Dusk Falling (Book 1) (53 page)

But her soothing voice and outstretched hands had a completely opposite reaction than expected. The slave screeched and backpedaled wildly. He threw the pail at her feel, splashing grimy water on her boots and bolted as fast as his twisted feet could carry him.

“Damn it girl. You’re too trusting. You believe there is good in others before you are willing to consider there is bad and that is your poorest quality. Thinking that way will only get you killed. And us too.” Genlo reprimanded, taking off after the fleeing slave. They followed in time to see him dart down a corridor. At a more cautious pace, wary of guards, they headed down the dark corridor toward yet another chamber this one with a
peaked ceiling lit by suspended lanterns. A strange firepit lay in the center. The walls were lined with empty chains. A pulsing thrumming sound was reverberating through, could be felt as well as heard. Eyes were drawn to its source- five gems of flashing purple and swirling darkness. Their strange energies burst and snapped, barely contained by their forced shapes.

Then the gems were forgotten. The slave cowered in the room’s corner. His master had been notified of the intruders.

Tarllus was a big man, barrel-chested and hairy. His girth spoke of Ogre lineage. He had lost his eye many years ago and wore a sash of cloth wrapped around a portion of his skull. What hair that was left atop his head was greasy and frayed. Behind him, he drug a large two-handed axe, the blade encrusted with old dried blood and viscera. His heavy tromping boots were audible even through the noise from the bizarre gems as he paced slowly back and forth by the cold firepit in the center. “Come to me, rodents.” His voice was deep, gravely, unpleasant. “Do not make me have to come to you.”

“…Tarllus…” Genlo spoke the Verca’s name like he tasted something foul. The Jrahda-trethen stepped forward from the dark corridor.

The Ogre’s single eye focused instantly, widening in astonishment. “Well, well, well…” He wasn’t off-balance for long, an ugly sloppy grin turned his mouth. “Very unexpected. We had not thought you would return on your own. You finally came to your senses?”

“Something like that.”

“I see.” The warden was not moving toward Genlo, if anything he was subtly moving back toward the far wall. “So asking you to have a seat by the wall would be out of the question. And who is it you’ve brought with you? Might as well ask them to join us. I can smell them.”

“Who is this? This isn’t the High Priest is it?” Serrtin asked, palm sweaty on the grip of her sword.

“Of course not. This is Tarllus. The warden.” Genlo replied, eyes tracking the Verca’s progress away. “He is in charge of torturing subjects until they are nothing but mindless husks- like this pathetic creature here.” He gestured toward the tongue-less slave who was curled in a ball on the floor, arms wrapped around his head.

“When you are good at something, why change?” The Verca chuckled. “If you have not returned to get back in our good graces, Yashvre, then tell me why? You certainly aren’t slinking back like a whipped dog, begging for a pat from his master.”

Genlo’s expression darkened.

“What are these things?” Aya asked, having paced to one of the five swirling gems. She could sense its stored power- it’s malignant, tainted power. In her minds eye, it was like a nightmare in material form.

“Stay away from those, girl. They are none of your concern.” Tarllus snarled, his confident affable facade abruptly replaced with ire.

Genlo peeled his eyes off the Verca he knew so well to study the gems. In truth, he didn’t much care what they were. Not with this man standing before him. He sensed the same as Aya but knew no more. “A new way of attempting to track me?”

Tarllus snorted. “If it were, we’d have had you long ago.” He hefted his grotesque weapon atop his shoulder. He took a single backstep, still smiling his unclean smile. “You’ll learn, soon enough.”

“You are stalling.” Genlo said suddenly in realization.

“Ah, you always were a clever boy. Too clever. I had wanted the opportunity to rid you of that quality but Serethar was worried I may take it too far, make you unusable to our… worthy cause.” The massive Ogre pivoted and swung his axe, haft first. The hardened wood connected with the bronze disk that hung behind him. The booming sound echoed up through the vent in the ceiling above, traveling via the tunnel system to the farthest reaches of the Verca stronghold.

Tarllus didn’t give them time to comprehend what he’d done; he attacked with a thunderous yell. His unanticipated charge scattered the team- Aya darted to the right, Avarice ducked behind one of the support pillars, and Serrtin dodged to the left. The trethen didn’t retreat, he shifted his center of gravity low then came up inside the Ogre’s defense. Razor sharp claws slashed upwards, ripping through fabric and slicing the thick leathery skin beneath. Blood sprayed but the wound was not threatening. Tarllus released one hand on his weapon and latched onto Genlo’s wrist, whipping the trethen past and slamming him into the wall. The Ogre didn’t even pause in his offensive- he couldn’t kill Genlo but he certainly could obliterate the fools he brought with him. They’d be rewarded for returning the Verca’s property only by death. He could use their lifeforces, drain them of their powers and turn them into drudges but no, he wanted to feel those lifeforces end by his own hand.

He brought his axe from right to left, using the momentum to pound into the Yarcka’s ready blade. A heavy creature herself, what would have knocked a normal Larren off his feet was halted neatly by her. Perhaps not so neatly and the axe scraped by, angling her exposed arm. When she sought to put space in between them, the
flamberge dipped and the warden’s huge hand snaked by to fasten on to the other arm. Yanking down to unbalance, he delivered hard kick the warriors midsection.

“Serrtin!” Aya called, ready to jump in with a spell but stopped short. Could magic be used now?

As if reading her mind, Genlo confirmed it as he picked himself up off the floor. “Guards are coming. They know we’re here. It’s going to be a fight here on out so cast!”

She needed no more motivation. Aiming low, she pelted the warden’s feet with freezing rime. The hasty spell wasn’t lasting but it was powerful. The big man tripped and Genlo sliced open his back, dodging back agilely when he swung around. Serrtin recovered and raised her sword high, ready to end it.

A shout from the corridor brought them all around. Men in dark gray cloaks were pouring in, soon to outnumber the intruders. Aya’s hands began to ache with cold as she prepared a new spell. Suddenly, she felt some of the spells power being drawn away. It was as if something was feeding off it. To her side, the swirling gem sparked and spat. She instantly made the connection. “These things are power stores! We must destroy them!”

“No!” Tarllus left off his attack and turned his sights on the mage.

“There’s too many, we need to get to-” Tarllus’ axe smashed into the mage’s shield, cutting off Serrtin’s words. Then the guards were on them with drawn steel.

“Fall back. We’ll circle around.” Genlo said, knocking away a sword and cutting down a guard.

“Aya-” The warrior caught an attack on the handguard of her flamberge and bowled over the three in front of her.

“I’ll get to her.” But there were guards in his way, more guards were coming and Tarllus was still there. He cursed, taking down a guard only to have that one replaced with yet another. He called to the mage but she couldn’t hear him, caught behind her own defense. She would be cut off from them completely if he didn’t act.

The High Priest would know he was there sooner or later; the moment he utilized any sort of magic stronger than his shadowclaws, Serethar would know it. Genlo snarled in frustration, gathering up his energy, drawing from the runes along his forearms and let it fly. The dark sphere’s exploded on impact- the floor, the wall, the Verca guards. In the confusion, he caught Aya’s eyes. She nodded gravely. “Go! Now!”

“Avarice! Head back, through the doorway!” The boy didn’t need to be asked twice. With a fierce expression that said he was in fact not taking the inaction with ease, he rushed quickly as directed with Serrtin hot on his heels. Genlo paused for the mage. Aya saw their plan, attempted to win her way past the giant Ogre but he
was having none of it. The man was shrugging off her ice spells almost like he was becoming immune to them. She tried the same tactic as before, freezing the ground at his feet. When the warden slipped, the mage ran.

The doorway was not an option, the Verca were giving chase so she took to the narrow steep stone steps heading up. She passed one of the mysterious gems and before she knew it, she had it pocketed. Scrambling, using her hands to keep balance. By a hair’s breadth, she missed having her feet removed at the ankle by Tarllus’ axe. The old crumbly stonework was no match for the might of the swing.

Serrtin, Avarice and Genlo made their way down a long corridor, the Yarcka arguing the entire way. “There is a way up out of there. If she isn’t dead, she took it.”

“Where does it lead?”

“The arena.”

They came to another chamber, this one had a different feel to it. Tapestries hung on smoothed walls. Two beautiful dark wood cabinets lay in between three doorways. The doors were all shut, the wood was carved in intricate designs. Genlo skid to a halt. In their mad dash, he’d forgotten what the corridor connected with. He eyed the doors, glad to see they were closed, before leading them up a set of well-cut stairs.

“This is not how I pictured the end to come about.” Avarice said, cheeks flushed from the run.

“It’s not over yet.” Genlo responded, reaching the platform. They stood upon a circular walkway overlooking a vast empty arena. The drop down was thirty, forty feet, not safe at all. Across the way, his eyes tracked the small dark figure of their mage. The guards were right behind her, Tarllus behind them. The giant man moved without rush.

Aya turned, slashing out with her ice spells and fell one of her pursuers. The Verca behind him leapt over his fallen cohort and cut at her legs. When she scrambled nimbly out of the way, he opted for a straight thrust. “Alive!” Shouted Tarllus.

The Verca’s pause gave the mage time to formulate a piercing ice shard, taking him in the chest and the guard tumbled from the walkway. The next guard tried to grab her up, to pin her arms, but released her immediately when she kneed him soundly and shoved him into the next. She turned to run.

And was struck down by a blast of sickly dark magic. The spell took her square in the back, throwing her to the walkway where she did not rise.

Serrtin screamed her friends name and if it were not for Genlo holding her back, she would have raced over not caring for the odds. From just beyond Tarllus, out strode one of the narrasu. “Tarllus, what is going on here?!”

“Sir,” The Ogre said with a respectful tilt of his greasy head. “Our Phoenix has come home to roost.”

The narras turned to follow Tarrlus’ line of sight, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Evas narie.” The opportunity was mind-boggling. “Has the High Priest been notified?”

“I have not yet had the chance to send a guard. He is a slippery eel.”

“Yes. Yes he is.” The narras paused to give thought to that. “Gather the girl. If he were to bring allies with him, perhaps they can be used to assure cooperation.” Tarrlus gestured and the Verca guardsmen were quick to act.

Across the arena, the narras said calmly, “Esulchar. If you do not meet us there, your friends life is forfeit.” He turned to the warden. “Come.”

“Eh!” Tarrlus blank incredulously. “We’re just… leaving?”

The teacher just smiled.

Chapter 37

The three watched the Verca file out off the platform with bleak desolate expressions. The inconceivable had happened. The Verca had one of their own. Her life was now in jeopardy, a pawn in this game. Genlo knew what the ransom would be.

He paced to the handrail overlooking the arena floor and put his gloved hands on the cold metal. Shutting his eyes, he screamed his frustration until his throat was raw, the sound echoing throughout. He wanted to break the rail in his hands, to use it to smash…. everything within reach, the Verca, this place, himself…

A gentle hand on his shoulder brought him back. Serrtin stood over him, her brown eyes understanding. “We are all in this together.”

“I guess,” The Jrahda-trethen began, “it really is time to end all this.” He straightened and turned, an odd almost ironic smile turned his mouth. “When we get Aya back, you will not leave me to that fate. Whatever it takes but you will not let them win this.”

Serrtin swallowed, unable to find her voice.

“Your death would be regrettable but if there is no other way, then I will make it quick.” Avarice said pragmatically. “
‘Whatever it takes’
.”

Genlo met the young God’s eyes and gave a solemn nod.

~ ~ ~

“My, my, this is indeed unforeseen- a day I never thought would come to pass. My Lady, seems your impudent pup has come home of his own volition.”

“That creature is no offspring of mine!”

“Come now, Ivariljhle. If it were not for your selfless sacrifice, none of this would have been possible.” Serethar purred, gently patting the Jrahda’s hand. She was tall and resplendent in a floor-length white dress. Her snow-white locks were pinned up, a stray ringlet hung over one of her flashing eyes.

Peeved, she swished the stray hair from her face. “Do not ever forget that, High Priest. Now if you will excuse me, I will leave this to you. It’s unsettling to see my own features in such a being.”

She strode from the esulchar, not even deigning to notice as Serethar’s pet skulked in to take up residence in a darkened corner. The chamber was lit by sconces hung on the sustaining pillars and by two large hearths near the far wall. Between the hearths sat a stone throne on a raised dais, at the foot of the dais stretched an altar draped in black cloth. Robed guards took up position opposite the entrance doorways. Near the altar, held at knife-point at back and neck, was Aya.

Serethar’s expression brightened, despite facing the throne he knew he had company. He ran his long fingers along the thin staff he held, admiring gaze upon the swirling purple-black gem at its top. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it? I would like to think things are just as you left them.” The High Priest turned to face the occupied entrances. “Ah. My boy. You however look much different. And you’ve brought us… guests?” Gesturing widely with his arms, he gave a slight bow. “I am Serethar. Surely the young Yashvre mentioned me..?”