144: Wrath (21 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Shadowy images clawed at Polas’s mind. His body shook and perspiration soaked his blanket. His cot creaked and groaned beneath him as he tossed and turned in a restless struggle against his nightmares.

Around him, the room was quiet. Xandra slept on a cot like his, Flint was curled up in a ball on the floor, and Vor slept in a seated position with his back against the wall.

Polas’s body was rigid, but inside his mind swirled a whirlpool of lost memories.

~ 1000 years ago ~

"General Polas Kas Dorian," Exandercrast said as he brushed an imagined speck of dust from his immaculate suit. "It has such a regal sound to it. Descended directly from a member of the Eight."

Polas again found himself strapped to a table. The marks on his legs were now old scars, his wrists were raw and bloodied from his attempts to free himself, and his right ankle was bandaged and ached as though it had been recently broken.

Behind him, a thin-skinned Narculd kept a fire going in a small cauldron. A glittering array of maniacal devices lay across a metal grill, glowing red with absorbed heat.

"You know," Exandercrast continued, "I’m partly responsible for the creation of the Eight. You might even go so far as to say it was my idea. One of the only charitable things I could ever be accused of."

Exandercrast laughed lightly to himself as he circled the table. He snapped his fingers, and two Ibor guards entered the room. They both had to duck to enter through the doorway, their gnarled horns scraping against the stone arch.

They bent over Polas and unfastened his bindings. Polas’s mind screamed for him to fight them off, to kick at them, to do anything, but his body simply would not respond. Every inch of him felt cold and knotted, and his bones grated against one another with each movement.

"I grow bored of causing you physical harm, Kas Dorian," Exandercrast said. "I thought we would introduce a few guests to enliven things a bit around here."

The Ibor guards dragged Polas from the room and down a dark hallway with Exandercrast close behind.

At the end of the hall, Polas thought he heard voices he recognized. Soft, like sweet music and amber wine.

The guards flung him to the floor of the brightly lit room. Polas looked up in horror to see his precious wife, Finadel, and his innocent daughter, Leyryl, strapped to tables. The child was older now, and could hardly be called a child anymore. He had missed so much. In his absence, she had blossomed into a beautiful flower; his baby girl had become a young lady. The pain of regret coursed though his veins. The weight of not knowing how old she was or how many years he had missed sought to drown him.

"Polas," Finadel said through streaming tears.

Polas’s body finally found a source of strength, and he sprang upon the closest guard, slammed his fists into the stony creature's throat, and kicked him in the back of the knee. The Ibor laughed and tossed him aside like an orin doll.

Exandercrast extended a single hand toward Polas. His body seized then went stiff, and he found himself floating above the ground. Blood vessels in his neck swelled as he tried to free himself from the invisible hold. With a thud, his feet slammed back onto the ground, and he was rooted to the spot.

"Kas Dorian, did you really think I could not control you here?" Exandercrast said. "My power is far greater than your simple ‘iron-blooded’ resistance."

He forced Polas to stand with arms folded across his chest and leaned in close to Polas’s face, close enough that his nostrils burned with the scent of heated stone. A glimmer of sadistic light danced in Exandercrast’s eyes as he whispered, "Oh, and about your son. Not to worry, I have something special planned for the boy."

He straightened and brushed the lapel of this dressing suit.

"I’ll leave you alone now," He stopped outside the doorway and turned. "Oh, and gentlemen, do enjoy yourselves."

Polas could not move a muscle, could not open his mouth, and could scarcely even breathe as he watched the Ibor guards stalked toward his wife and daughter.

One of the guards ran a rocky finger along Finadel’s nose, tearing an even line down the middle of her face.

Finadel screamed, and the Ibor began their work in earnest.

Blood splattered against Polas’s unblinking face and tears welled in his eyes.

Xandra awoke to find Polas sitting up in bed, rocking back and forth with his head in his hands. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he breathed as one in a heated battle.

"Master Kas Dorian, are you alright?" she asked quietly, almost afraid to draw his attention. "Master Kas Dorian?"

Polas stood with a heart-churning yell and threw his cot against the wall. It splintered with a loud crash.

Flint bolted upright and pulled his blankets up to shield against what he likely assumed was an attack.

"It’s okay, Master," Xandra said.

Flint peeked over the edge of his blanket and let out a long sigh.

"Master Kas Dorian," Xandra said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "Is there anything I can get you? It was only a dream. Maybe some water will help you rest."

"Only a dream…" Polas shoved his feet into his ratty old boots and grabbed his sword. He took a long look at Xandra, and something in his eyes told her he was not truly seeing her. In one instant, he was staring with eyes distant, and in the next, he yelled something in High Peltin and ran from the room. He slammed the door behind him with such force that the old paneling around the frame split and fell away in pieces.

Xandra grabbed her things to follow him, but Vor put a hand out to stop her.

"There’s a star on the floor," he said with an eerie calm.

On the ground next to Kiff’s empty cot, the shadow of an eight-point star lay, falling from the room’s only window.

"Where’s Kiff?" Xandra asked.

Flint stood and dressed. Once he had his boots on, he walked over to the window to examine the star-shaped plank that had been attached to the outside of the pane.

"The pup left a while ago," Vor said, standing. "The noisy dolt tripped over me on his way out."

"Really?" Flint looked back from the window with an eyebrow cocked.

"Why would he leave us?" Xandra said. "How could he?"

Vor shrugged."Probably ran home to his masters. Our esteemed host has left us as well." He picked up his axe and ran his fingers along its blade while his thick tongue played against his canines.

Xandra was shaken and utterly confused. Had she dreamed her last conversation with the Undlander? She knew it was more important to give chase to Master Kas Dorian, but her heart longed to chase after that annoying thief. "What do we do?"

"First of all, we do nothing rash. We get organized, make a plan, perhaps acquire a map of the city and plot his most likely locations. Only then can we go after Master Kas Dorian," Flint said. "Right, Vor?"

"That seems a little involved. Besides, I think we’re about to have company." He nodded toward the window.

"They're all around us," Xandra said as she peeked out into the alley.

Shadows flashed as figures on the neighboring roof ran past. Xandra stood very still and looked up at the ceiling as the roof creaked under the weight of passing bodies.

"It will be okay, my dear," Flint said. "We need to remain calm and stay together."

A loud crash sounded from somewhere in the building.

"It sounds as though they have managed a way inside," Flint said. "Any ideas what we might be up against? Numbers? Strength of arms?"

Vor stared blank-faced at Flint. "I’ll go after the general and make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble. You two take care of this rabble and try not to get killed." He turned and flung the door open, its hinges straining to cling to the frame.

Xandra peered down the long hallway. The corridor was rapidly filling with dark clad assassins. The Dorokti King lowered his head and charged, and those assassins unlucky enough to be in his path were knocked aside or trampled. He did not stop when he reached the front door to the building, but instead rammed right through it, leaving Xandra and Flint alone against an ever-growing mob of dark-clad rogues.

"Wait!" Flint yelled after him. "Don’t split the party."

Xandra looked from her master to the doorway. The Thieves’ Guild mercenaries were recovering and had turned their focus to their prey trapped in the statuary room.

"I’m not one to complain, but this is quickly getting out of hand." Flint backed himself between the statues using what little protection they could provide as a makeshift barrier.

"The skull," Xandra said.

She ran to the door and slammed it closed. Flint strained to push the massive Nalunis skull into position as a barricade.

"Now what do we do?" Xandra asked.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Kiff sat on the edge of the old fountain. He was short of breath and doing his best to staunch a seeping wound on his thigh. One sickle lay beside him with a few strips of damp cloth stuck to its blade. Reyce’s bloodless body lay beneath the pool’s stagnant waters.

"Will you please stay dead this time?" Kiff asked as he finished cinching a strip of cloth around his leg.

The night was still at this late hour, though he could see lights and hear music from the within the city. Windowless shacks and homes that were little more than stables surrounded the open courtyard. The dirt streets were lined with filth and refuse, and a persistent odor swarmed the area, plaguing him even through his mask.

 Kiff stood and hopped a few times to test the wound on his leg. It did not seem too bad. Crushed voru was almost as good as magic on a fresh wound.

"You lost, pup?"

Kiff turned to watch Vor emerge from a shadowy alleyway. The Dorokti strode past him toward the fountain and lifted the corpse out of the water. Reyce’s neck was broken, he had a small hole in the back of his head, his spine was severed in three places, and his torso had been lashed until it was little but sad strips of decayed flesh. Vor growled and dropped the body back into the fountain.

"You better start talking fast," Vor said. He turned to face Kiff and moved his axe to a two-handed grip.

Kiff pulled his board out of his pack. He could sense the rage pouring from the Dorokti. He had to calm the berserker or there would be many more lives lost in Cheapside than Kiff was prepared to have on his conscience. "I found him like this."

Vor’s laugh rattled nearby windowpanes. A few citizens holding tiny candles peeked out of their front doors to check on the commotion.

"You were out for a stroll then, eh?" Vor said in a mocking tone. "Or perhaps you were off to visit some old friends."

"He did stab me." Kiff pointed down to his wounded leg. "Or at least he tried to. It’s more of a graze, really."

Kiff bent down and set his board to hover a few feet off the ground. Before he could step onto it, Vor grabbed him by the shoulder.

"How about you tell me why I don’t gut you right now?"

"Would you believe that I’m a holy crusader tasked with ridding the world of unholy abominations of undeath, and were you to murder me, you’d be making a direct, aggressive act against the Church of Leindul? Which is probably a sin."

"Not a chance."

Kiff shrugged Vor’s grip away and hopped onto his board.

"Pup, you’re really trying my patience."

"How about this?" Kiff spun and rose into the air, out of Vor’s reach. "I used to be a member of the House of Stars. Past doesn’t make the man, Vor."

"It can give you a very clear painting of who he really is, though."

Vor pulled a small throwing-axe from a pouch on his thigh.

"So, is that how you feel about the Fallen?" Kiff asked. "Has the past of your people determined who they are?"

Vor set his jaw, and his snout twitched. "You know nothing about my people."

"I know more than you might think." Kiff said. "We do have cultural studies where I come from. Well, that’s a lie, but I have picked up a bit on my own over the years. I know you’re after a lot more than Exandercrast’s head. And I know you’re sneaking around making preparations behind Kas Dorian’s back."

"I am honor bound to Polas and will do whatever it takes to see his mission succeed," Vor said. "Even if that means going against his will. My people will not sit by and watch as destiny is forged."

"You mean like they did the last time? Oh yeah, I also know why people call you the Fallen."

Vor snarled, and a tremor ran through his arms and up the haft of his axe.

"So, what’s the difference this time?" Kiff asked. "Why not follow the Iron Butcher’s plan and see what this destiny thing is your ancestors seemed so keen on?"

"Kas Dorian is driven by vengeance. He may be a great leader, but he has no true plan. And leaders need armies to win wars. I can give him that army, and I will not risk allowing him to fail again."

"You don’t have faith in anyone do you? You get weaned too early, or do you Fallen ever stop suckling?"

"Come down here, boy," Vor said with a nasty smirk. "I’ll teach you about the faith I have in my axe."

"You don’t want this to happen here. I know all about you Dorokti Berserker types. You need time to channel your rage before you’re worth your hilt in battle."

"Oh, but you’re getting me there real quick."

Kiff floated even higher into the air. "I’m not going to fight you, Vor. Things are about to get rough. We’ll need all the help we can get."

Shadows danced along the alleyways leading to the fountain.

"Maybe sooner than I thought."

Assassins poured into the open street. Within a matter of seconds, Vor was surrounded on the ground.

The Undlander had not been ready for this so soon, but at least everything was on the table. The Guild had finally move the final layer into the field. Shirmattaa always laid his plans in triplicate, multiple contingencies should another layer fail. Kiff had been waiting for this move to show itself. He wondered if Reyce had even known what he was putting into motion as he followed orders with the star emblem.

Shirmattaa must have been getting hot fingers. No one ever played their final piece while Kiff was still on the board. He knew this group would not hesitate to gut him, just as he had not felt pity for Reyce’s uselessness. It was the nature of the business. Finish the job or someone else would. Kiff spun and drew his sickle. He was not quite through with his own plans yet.

Vor knelt and closed his eyes.

Kiff swooped forward on his board, slashed an assassin across the face, and opened another’s shoulder in one deft motion.

"Stop wasting time, Vor," Kiff yelled. "Just kill!"

Vor rolled forward as a blade clipped the tip of his horn. He looked up at Kiff, growled, and threw himself at their aggressors.