Year: 3045 AGD
Month: New Year
Fourth Fifthday
Mine
The two remaining Goblins and the guards had finished removing the debris and reinforcing the tunnel several days prior to the arrival of the new batch of slaves. During those few days, everyone at the mine seemed to be at peace. The only work that was required was the removal of refuse and excrement, and like the other tasks over the past few Eightdays, he was not required to even do that.
This had given him a lot of time to think, and to dream. The majority of his dreams he felt were just that, but every few sleep periods he would have a dream that felt like it was something more. He was fairly certain that the things he was seeing during those special occasions were the memories of people and beings that had come before him. How that was possible he didn’t know, but they were much too detailed to be anything else.
To make it worse, even his regular dreams were starting to take on a life of their own. Often during his dreams, he would suddenly be above and around his own body in the cell that he shared with the two Goblins. His awareness spread throughout the cave. He could see, feel, and smell everything for a short distance around his body. That distance seemed to be growing slowly over the last few Eightdays. It had started with a vague awareness of things near his body, and little by little the boundaries of this dream awareness had been stretching.
During his last dream, he had seen a deposit of gemstones about a foot below the area that he usually slept. Part of him wondered how his mind made up some of the things that he had been seeing, but another small part of his mind wondered if that was why he had chosen that spot to sleep. Such thoughts, however, had been interrupted that morning when the guards suddenly became much more animated than they had been over the previous days.
Several minutes later, the reason for the sudden renewal in the efficiency of their jobs became apparent. The first thing that the boy noticed was the familiar clink-drag-clink of a group of people chained together, moving as one. Moments later, they began to appear from out of the darkness: a line of desolate souls, resolute in their captivity. His first visual impression of his new cellmates was that they looked cold. White flakes dotted several heads, and their usually dark or light green skin was now a pallid greenish white.
A half-dozen men accompanied the new arrivals, all of them well bundled up in furs to keep the cold at bay. A light dusting of white flakes cascaded off of each of them as they removed their coats and shook them vigorously. Four of them were Grey Elves who wore equipment like that of the guards that he had seen around the mine for as long as he could remember. They went about the work of preparing the slaves to enter the cell, while ignoring the final two Human members of their party.
The first was an older man who was mostly bald, the little bit of hair that remained on the back of his head was gray with a few black hairs speckled throughout. The final member was a man in his twenties; his features indicated his disapproval of everything around him, from his traveling companions to the stone walls that now surrounded him. He looked back in the direction they had come, as if he’d rather be outside than around such filth.
As the final few slaves came into view, he noticed that several of the captives were not Goblins, or at least not of a kind he had seen before. The two final members towered over the others, and he thought their skin would be a reddish-brown when they warmed up.
In front of the two large slaves was a creature that had the same greenish tint to his skin as the Goblins but was a head shorter than the shortest Goblin he had seen so far. The only other thing that this new arrival had in common with the rest of the Goblins was a pair of large, pointed ears. Though he was shorter than the Goblins, he looked like he might weigh as much as two of them combined, his squat frame possessed an incredible amount of muscle. Out of the entire group, this little powerhouse also seemed the least affected by the cold.
The guards double checked the manacles on each of the slave’s wrists before they began to unlock the shackles around their ankles. As each set of shackles was undone, the younger Human poked each Goblin’s feet with a pin, drawing a small amount of blood. Moments later, the blood dispersed, and the wound stopped flowing, but that wasn’t the most interesting part. Each slave that had been poked in such a manner began to quickly regain the color in their skin and extremities.
“Blood magic,” one of the mine guards whispered and spat, making a sign with his hands that the boy had never seen before.
He had been so fascinated by what the young Blood Mage was doing that he hadn’t noticed the older Human male approach his cell until the man blocked his view. Looking up into the man’s brown eyes, he saw nothing short of hatred.
“So, it is true. You really don’t remember who you are. Pity, I would love to tell you all about how the battle at Asylum went. Yandarian has other plans for me, however. I am to go north and meet up with several Troll clans for a special mission. Without you or any of your nosey friends to get in my way, I expect it to be an enlightening experience.”
As the man spoke, the boy’s gaze continued to be pulled back to the dagger that the man wore at his side. It seemed a little larger than the ones that the guards wore, but nothing else was apparently special about it, yet for some reason he felt the urge to hold it. The man had just finished his gloating when he seemed to notice the direction of the boy’s gaze.
“Oh, I forgot. This was yours, wasn’t it? So maybe there is a part of you in there somewhere fighting to get out.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Yandarian has plans for you, boy, and I don’t think you are going to like them. If you are in there somewhere, you had better fight with everything you have, because that old Blood Mage is looking for a dozen ways to make you compliant. Once he finds one that he thinks will work, you can be sure he’ll come for you. I saw what you did to his manor. It was pretty impressive and bought you time, but don’t think it’ll keep the old bastard at bay forever. I hear that…”
“Walkins! Get away from him,” the young Blood Mage hissed from across the room. He had just finished his work on the two large slaves.
“Relax, Temendri, whatever your master did seems to have worked, he has no idea who I am,” Walkins said, turning away from the cell. “I didn’t tell him his name or anything; he’s still your compliant little vegetable.”
“That remains to be seen,” Temendri said, walking across the room. “What is your name boy?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. Do you know who I am?” he replied.
“Of course I do, you are no one. You are an unimportant slave who should do his work and behave if you want to get out of here alive someday.” His disapproval of his surroundings had turned into a sneer of derision when he looked upon the young boy. “Now, let me see your hand.”
Placing his hand through the bars of the cell, he winced when the pin stabbed into his thumb. A large globule of blood welled on his fingers before puffing away.
“The block is still in place,” Temendri said, dismissing everyone else in the room from his thoughts as he pulled out a small notebook and began mumbling to himself. “Unusually high activity in the hippocampus, the sub-cortex, and the temporal lobe. May be a natural part of the subject’s unique physiology but recommend…” Whatever the young Mage said after that was lost in the din as the slaves were brought towards the cell.
“Good luck, kid, you might have to show a couple of these idiots who is boss though, some of them are rather rowdy,” Walkins said, looking back towards the boy for a moment before he followed the young Mage, who was wondering back towards the entrance.
One by one, the manacles were unlocked from the slaves' wrists before they were pushed through the open cell door. The boy and the two Goblins that had been with him in the cave-in moved back towards their usual spot in the cell, leaving room for the rest to come in and find a place. As they filed in, most of them didn’t even bother looking around, they just ambled forward and found a place to sit or lay down along the wall. When the strange squat Goblin entered the cell he looked around, his eyes boasting a keen intellect. For a moment, his gaze settled on the young boy, a look of curiosity flashing across his features before he chose a spot along the wall between the two groups.
Finally, the two Orcs entered the cell, their skin now a ruddy brown. The larger of the two looked around disdainfully at the Goblins. His eyes didn’t even stop on the young boy in the corner, dismissing him immediately as unimportant. Walking over to a spot in the middle of the large gathering of Goblins, he began speaking in a language that the boy could never remember hearing before, yet each word rang clear with understanding in his mind.
“Move, you filthy curs, this is my spot.” The Goblins didn’t seem to understand the language, but it quickly became apparent what the Orc wanted. For whatever their reason, they simply gave in and moved away, a large space opening up for the two Orcs. When they settled in, the two Orcs began to converse in their harsh language.
“I still can’t believe you let them sneak up on us, Grelesh,” the larger Orc said.
“Oh yes, it is my fault that ten Dracairei just happened to be traveling southwest and came upon our camp. I’ve never even heard of that many Dracairei moving together. I don’t know what is going on, but it must be something big.”
“If I would have had time to grab my axe, I would have taken one or two of them out and died gloriously.”
“Yes, Warak, I imagine waking up with a dagger under your chin will make you rethink a fight just as much as having seven of those demons appear in front of you while you feel something pressing into your lower back,” Grelesh quipped.
“The first opportunity that presents itself, we are getting out of here. These puny Elves won’t be able to stop us, and I’ll slay any of these little green bastards that get in our way.”
They quieted for a time after this, leaving the cave in near silence, with the only sounds coming when someone shifted position, or a guard wandered by. As the boy began to doze off, his mind was focused on one thought. What is a Dracairei? He had heard the name before—the guards had spoken it in hushed whispers—but the image the Orcs painted in his mind made them silent demons stealing through the night.
“How’s the leg?” Tyrdra asked, knowing full well that it was nearly completely healed. She had checked it early this morning before Dalton had awoken.
“Better than yesterday, not as good as it will be tomorrow. At least I can walk on it without support now. Not that you care,” Dalton said, throwing a glare in her direction, though it didn’t have as much heart as it had a week prior.
“Pain teaches its own lessons. You will be more grateful and thoughtful for your health once it has returned in full. We have only been slowed a little in the last week. I expect we should reach Mountainview by tomorrow morning,” Tyrdra said, taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. Fall would be upon them shortly, and she knew they would have to be on their way home well before winter settled in or they wouldn’t make it back to South Harbor until next spring. She knew that Dalton’s mother would be irate if that happened, and an enraged Alexander was something that most sane people tried to avoid.
“It still seems strange to me that anyone would want to settle this far from any form of civilization. Are there even any Warden patrols this far out?”
“Some people enjoy the isolation. They don’t feel comfortable being under the gaze of a power like that of the Protectorate. Even though the Protectorate is fairly unobtrusive, as far as kingdoms go, these are the sort of people who don’t want anyone telling them what to do or where to do it. Usually, they are an alright lot, but be careful when we get there, because some of them are easily agitated by outsiders.” Tyrdra replied. “As for the Wardens, I don’t know if they send any patrols to this side of the Blades. I would think they do, just to keep an eye on the border, but I can’t say for sure.”
As they came around a bend in the trail, the trees opened up to give a spectacular view of the valley below. Pine needles crunched under the soles of their boots, and the evening sun shot rays of light through several breaks in the clouds above. However, in the distance, rising above the next ridge that they needed to traverse, a dark plume of smoke marred the beautiful landscape.
“Is that where we are heading?” Dalton asked, “and is that normal?”
“That is most assuredly not normal,” Tyrdra replied, pushing past him. “Change of plans, we need to get there as fast as possible.” She paused a moment, remembering that her companion was not yet up to a run through the mountains. Placing her hand on his forehead she delved into his body, seeking the mending bones. Finding the place where the fracture had occurred, she began to strengthen and smooth the bone. Dalton grimaced, the discomfort of what she was doing making him light headed. In all, it only took about twenty seconds to finish the job his body had already been doing and improve upon it, but both of them were sweating by the time she finished.
“Alright,” Dalton said, testing his leg. Finding the pain completely gone, he smiled up at his progenitor. “Let’s go see what’s wrong.” Putting action to his words, he started off at a run, bounding down the trail, leaping over anything that might impede his footfalls.
“Kids,” she mumbled, before a grin took hold and she began running after him.
At a run, they managed to reach the hill at the base of the mountain that gave Mountainview its name, around the time that the sun started to dip behind the massive peak. The first rays of dusk illuminated a scene of chaos below. Behind the massive stone wall that surrounded the town, fires burned, and people screamed.
Dalton took a step forward, ready to run down to the aid of the village, but Tyrdra put a strong hand on his shoulder, stopping his forward progress. Looking at him, she could see the turmoil that he was going through, and she saw that he was only a moment from ripping out of her grasp, but something in her face must have given him pause.
“Wait, look,” Tyrdra said, pointing towards the roof of one of the taller structures. A dark form prowled across the shingles, bare metal glinting in its hand.
“Dracairei.” Dalton said the word like it was a curse. “How many would it take to create this much turmoil?”
“Not many, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a lot in there. I have heard of them organizing raids to see how their newest members perform. I’ve heard of as many as a dozen traveling together. If there is that many, we may be in for a losing battle.”
“I know I’m not very old, but I’ve been training to fight these bastards my entire life. You tell me what to do and I’ll do it, but I can’t just walk away while they slaughter people. Whether the people want my protection or not, they have it.” His knuckles had grown white as he gripped the pommel of his sword.
“I know I’ve said this before, but you are so much like my Alexander that it hurts sometimes.” She placed her hand on his cheek, and sent her will across his clothes and armor, artificially strengthening their bonds.
Next, she delved into his mind, stimulating the hypothalamus activating his adrenal glands, augmenting the process so that it would not go past the point of safety for his body. Next, she augmented his muscles and joints so that they could handle the increased stress he would be putting on his body. It would only last a few hours, and he would most likely simply pass out at the end of it, but it might be enough to keep him alive until then. His mind and body didn’t resist her in the slightest, his trust in her so complete that even his subconscious mind didn’t resist the changes. That thought brought a tear to her eye.
“Hey, we’re going to be alright,” Dalton said, gently wiping the tear away.
“It’s not that… never mind, people are dying as we speak. Stay within sight of me at all times. We are going to try to take them out one at a time. The longer we can go without them knowing what we are doing, the better.”
He nodded, and they moved onto the trail downward through the trees. As she went, Tyrdra strengthened her clothes and armor as she had done for Dalton, and then she started a mental exercise that she had learned long ago that allowed her to process information at a much faster speed. Doing so made the world seem like it was going by at a much slower pace, but really her mind was just processing things much more efficiently. She knew she would be just as exhausted mentally by the end of the coming battle as Dalton would be physically.
Once, long ago she had been able to make seconds seem like minutes, but that had all changed when she had chosen to take her new form. As a dragon she had possessed an intimate familiarity with her surroundings that she hadn’t felt since that day seven hundred and thirty-five years ago. To most dragons, every particle around them became a part of the whole, forming a superconscious. In many ways, it was similar to what a Shaper was able to accomplish, only on an infinitely grander scale.
Learning how to control and interpret the data that all of these particles sent was a process that took many hundreds if not thousands of years to master. Giving up that connection had been one of the hardest things for many of them. Hundreds had ended up going insane or ending their own lives from the silence.
Now she could only manage to double or at the best of times triple the speed at which her mind interpreted the data that her eyes and ears were receiving. Time was relative to the number of things that the mind and body can do in a set period; this made it so that Tyrdra performed at a speed that was usually superior to that of her foe.
The problem today, however, was that the assassins had had similar training, allowing them to move and react at speeds which were well beyond that of your average soldier. However, the Protectorate Knights were also trained to take advantage of their increased mental facilities, so Dalton would be able to react quickly enough to make it an even fight.
On the other hand, the Dracairei were also likely very young, and their society seemed to take delight in backstabbing, both politically and literally. This made the chances of a Dracairei who could match her perception and reaction speeds highly unlikely. Her only worry for the coming fight was that they would be attacked by more than a couple Dracairei at once. If she and Dalton were able to get in and take out several of the assassins before they knew what was going on, it would multiply their chances of survival.
They reached the bottom of the hill within moments, slowing only when they neared the edge of the forest. Moving away from the trail head, they made their way through the underbrush beneath the towering conifers away from the back gate into the city. The chances that this blank stretch of wall was guarded were low, but she wasn’t going to get lazy now. Placing her hand upon the largest conifer tree near them, she sent a sliver of her consciousness up through the trunk and into the top of the tree. Once there, she began to gather particles from the air to create a light sensor that would allow her to interpret the rays of light that were being sent to that particular spot.
Looking out over the wall, she saw that the town was in chaos, and the cobbled avenues were littered with debris. There were a few small pockets of resistance that seemed to be fighting several forms or moving through the city as if they were going to be attacked at any time. One such group consisted of two men who were moving through a side street, standing back to back trying to make their way towards where the larger groups of resistance were making their stand.
A shadow flashed from a nearby alley, sending a shard of metal into the leading man’s neck and dropping him. The man who was walking backwards heard the impact but didn’t react fast enough to not stumble over his companion who was no longer moving. A cowled figure leapt from the shadow, sending his blade through the man’s neck. Before the second man hit the ground, the figure was gone.
“They are being slaughtered in there,” Tyrdra said, trying to bury the emotions that were bubbling up inside her.
“We will turn the tide.” Dalton’s left hand balled into a fist. “Are there any of them watching the wall here?”
“Not that I can see, but they are masters of stealth.” Tyrdra withdrew her consciousness from the old tree, driving out a small beetle infestation on her way as thanks. “Once we get through the wall, we move together. If I say down, you drop. If I say run, you run.”
Dalton rolled his eyes, “Yes, mother.”
She flicked him on the forehead. “You might wish she was here instead of me before this is through.”
“My lady, I can think of no one else with whom I would rather face mortal peril.” Dalton replied elegantly, the effect being ruined slightly as he rubbed his brow.
“Flatterer,” she replied exiting the forest.
“Besides the fact that I don’t get near as much enjoyment watching my mother create mayhem and destruction,” Dalton whispered, moving along beside her.
Shooting him a look that she hoped said shut up more than it let on that his banter entertained her, Tyrdra placed her hand on the stone wall. Doing much the same as she had with the tree, she sent a sliver of her consciousness into the masonry. From there, she began work convincing a large area of particles to contract in on themselves, creating an arch. This kind of shaping was much more difficult than many of the others that she had done so far this day.
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Whereas the changes she had made to Dalton and herself would soon be overwritten by their own bodies, the stone had no will of its own, so any changes she made would be permanent if she didn’t set them right. Her mind held an image of the exact configuration that the wall had been in when she touched it, as well as an image of what she wanted the particles that made up the stone to do. Holding these images separate was not a difficult task but convincing the particles that had come together to form something greater than they had been only moments before to go back to how they had been was taxing. Dalton guided her through the archway as she retained her connection to the stone.
The whole process had taken only a few seconds, but she felt like she had been in one of Elyas’s lectures for half the day as she enforced her will upon the particles, returning them to their previous state. Their feet gliding across the ground was the only sound in their immediate vicinity.
A scream sounded to their right from around the corner, and they sprang to action, Dalton in the lead. He moved like a panther stalking its prey, all stealth combined with imminent violence. She watched as he snuck up to the corner and quickly garnered a one-eyed look around the building. Holding up the hand that wasn’t holding his sword, he held up one finger. One enemy in sight. Cupping his hand, he turned it so the back was facing her. The target’s back is facing them. The screams began to increase—a woman’s desperate pleading. Tyrdra didn’t want to know what was happening or about to happen to this poor woman, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let it continue.
Placing her hand on the two-story home and sending her mind into the wooden frame, creating her faux ocular lenses on three corners of the roof, Tyrdra checked for any hidden threats. Seeing no one but the attacker and his victim in view, she nodded, giving Dalton all the permission he needed to carry out his duty.
She switched through each view quickly, keeping an eye out for any movement. Each time she switched back to the eye that could see around the corner, Dalton was that much closer to his prey. Dalton was a step outside of sword range when some sense of danger seemed to go off inside the Dracairei’s head. The moment it took for his head to swing in Dalton’s direction was too long for the assassin, and its head went flying, an incredulous look plastered upon the dying man’s face.
This new batch of Dracairei seemed taller and thinner than those that she had seen in her last outing to this region twenty years ago. Their brows were still not quite human, and yet they were nowhere near the reptilian creatures they had once been. It was obvious to her that someone was trying to breed the strengths of the Dracairei into a more humanoid form, and the purpose was not hard to guess at. The more manlike they became, the easier it would be for them to infiltrate the big cities. Luckily, it seemed that they were a long way off from that desired goal.
Dalton dragged the body around the corner to where Tyrdra hid, kicking the skull of the assassin ahead of him. He had left the woman exposed and alone in the street, and it didn’t take long for her to begin sobbing. Tyrdra knew that it was tearing him up inside ignoring the woman in that condition, but she was proud of him for knowing what his duty was in this kind of situation. Getting out of this situation alive would require stealth, strength, and no small amount of luck.
When he arrived with the body, she retracted her vision and looked down at the dead Dracairei. Dalton took up sentry duty at the corner as she went to work, his attention shifting between the woman around the corner and the area around and behind Tyrdra. Placing her hand on the assassin’s body, Tyrdra could feel that the man was no longer tied to his body, his soul or essence having given up its hold on the mortal coil. That was good for her, because it meant that there was no longer one will keeping dominion over the particles of his body, and she was able to quickly convince these particles to go their separate ways, leaving behind no trace that the body had been there moments before. She quickly did the same with the head, letting out a small sigh of disgust as the Dracairei’s tongue lolled out of his mouth before she was able to finish.
One enemy taken care of, the two rounded the corner, keeping alert for any other sign of the enemy. To Tyrdra’s surprise and pleasure, they found the woman standing up from where she had been, her tattered clothing draped around her. Looking directly into Tyrdra’s eyes, she nodded her thanks and walked into the building they had been hiding behind moments before. Tyrdra felt a strong surge of pride roll through her; these people had always been strong in the face of adversity, which was one of the reasons that the Draconic Council had decided on their course of action. As a whole, the people of the Protectorate were the kind of people who, once knocked down, did everything they could to get back on their feet. They might wail against the unfairness of the universe when they felt powerless, but if they lived through it, they came out stronger.
They moved through the streets like a pair of hunting cats, with only the slightest noises coming from their general area. Even an Elf would likely have caught nothing of their passage with all of the chaos going on around them. The sounds of fighting echoed off of the buildings as they moved closer to the center of town. Only a few minutes had passed before they came to the street where the two men who had been moving back to back had been taken down. Since she had witnessed that scene, two more bodies had joined the pile. Placing her hand on Dalton’s shoulder, she pulled him back around the corner before he would be in view from the alleyway.
Placing her hand upon the building, she sent her consciousness racing towards the alley, creating a lens above the area where she thought the assassin might be hiding. She saw him there, but on the opposite end of the alley. Creating an oculus on that end of the alley as well, she noticed that there were two more dead people on the next street over. Before she began to motion for Dalton to move in on the man, she noticed movement down the street from where the assassin stood hidden.
A young child—she couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl—was trying their best to sneak their way along the street towards the area where the fighting was going on. Ash, blood, and dirt covered the child from head to toe. Tyrdra couldn’t hear it from where she was, but she was sure that the child was crying even as they moved forward towards potential safety. The assassin pulled one of his long thin throwing knives out of his vest as the child neared. Rage tore through her at that point, and she sent more of her will into the building.
It only took her a moment to find something that she could use. The corner of the building had dozens of nails in it, and she used the wood to push them into places where they would do the most damage. Next, she turned the flat ends of the nails into points that began to poke out of the paint. Building up pressure behind the nails, the freshly shaped projectiles blasted out of their holes a heartbeat later, the only sound heard was that of the nails hitting the building across the alley in a short but violent staccato.
Moving around the corner with Dalton in tow, they found the assassin’s body hanging on the wall, his hand still clutching his deadly blade. The reptilian eyes were blank, and small drops of blood dripped from a dozen holes, most centered on the assassin’s chest. Dalton looked from the Dracairei back to Tyrdra and grinned like an idiot.
“Nails? Really? I mean I’ve heard of it being done before, but never from that far away from what you are manipulating. You are really on another level from the Shapers at the Academy, aren’t you?”
“Oh, calm down,” Tyrdra said as she went to work dissipating the body of the assassin. “It was just a little trick. Anyone with any talent would have felt that coming as soon as I started working it.”
“Well, this guy certainly didn’t see it coming,” Dalton said as he peered around the corner. “Kid, huh? Still have those momma dragon instincts, I see.”
“You children have no idea. If I was a momma dragon, the entire building would have fit nicely up that man’s posterior.”
Dalton laughed for a moment before he realized that she wasn’t. She raised an eyebrow, and he paled momentarily.
“You know, you are kind of scary sometimes,” Dalton said, “but I’ll be damned if you are not extremely hot right now…” He seemed to realize what he had just said as she raised her eyebrow even further. “I mean, uh, if you weren’t all ancient, and technically related to me.”
She took another moment to enjoy his uncomfortable demeanor before she decided to let it go. Besides, when he started looking unsure of himself she couldn’t help but see Alexander Dalton once again standing before her.
“Enough, this is a serious situation. Keep your mind on the business at hand.” Her voice held nothing but authority, yet as he nodded and turned to survey the street, she couldn’t help but pinch his bottom. The look of incredulity that he shot her a moment later was almost worth all of this chaos.
They took down two more assassins quietly before they arrived at the brutal scene in front of the church of Cypheria. The building was overflowing with people, a half circle of defenders guarding those that would not fit inside. As they watched, several bolts flew at the church from the rooftops around the square. Each bolt was covered in cloth and set afire. When the bolts hit the church, they began to smolder. It was only heartbeats away from starting a conflagration, when suddenly each fire went out. They were in luck—someone inside the church was a Shaper.
From the rooftop above them they heard a hiss of disappointment. A shadow passed over their heads. Looking up, Tyrdra locked eyes with the assassin. This one was not like the others that they had seen today. His face was more reptilian, and he was obviously of an older generation than the ones that they had taken care of earlier. When he landed on the other roof, she heard him cry out “Protectorate,” in the draconic tongue.
Cursing their luck, she moved Dalton into the doorway of the building that the Dracairei had leapt to. Looking into his eyes, she saw a cold fury simmering inside of him. He had just run through an entire town where atrocity after atrocity had taken place, and now he had seen these killers try to burn down a church full of women and children. She could feel the rage emanating from him, as his draconic nature began to take hold.
“Dalton,” Tyrdra said, trying to get his attention.
With his eyes unfocused, he breathed deeply while staring at the rooftops, her voice simply background noise to the rage building inside of him.
“Dalton!” she yelled, slapping him on the face.
His cold eyes registered surprise momentarily before he looked at her.
“You cannot lose control here. Fight it. I know that little voice inside your head is incensed right now and that it wants nothing more than to slay every one of them for their sins, but we cannot lose focus here. Protecting these people is what is important. We do not know how many of the Dracairei are left and running off on some quest to end their lives would more than likely end up with you dead, shortly followed by me and all of the people in that building.”
“You slapped me,” Dalton said, his eyes losing some of their rage as his rational mind once again began assuming control.
“Yes, well, I’m sure you deserved it for something. I promise I’ll make it up to you later, but right now we need to focus. I think there are three possibilities right now. First, they will retreat, having sown their chaos and unable to finish the job, although that is unlikely. Second, they will continue to throw fire at the building using whatever means available to them in order to tire whoever is inside until the place goes up in flames.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Third, they will try to find a way into the church and kill as many people as they can before the defenders out front realize what is going on.”
“From what I’ve learned at the Academy, it is likely to be a combination of choices two and three.” Dalton turned his gaze back towards the rooftops as he spoke, keeping watch for the slightest movement.
“Alright, so I think what we need to do is get inside that church. If we can take out whoever they send inside, we have a better chance of finding and killing the ones with the crossbows trying to set the place aflame. Follow me and keep sharp.”
“To the end of the world, m’lady,” Dalton grinned.
“Rogue,” she muttered loud enough for him to hear as they moved towards the church.
Walking at a quick pace, they approached the church from the front so as not to alarm the guards by their presence. The line of men tensed for a moment when they walked into the torchlight, before their apprehension was replaced with confusion.
“Lady Tyrdra?” a tall balding man said from behind the row of Defenders.
“Ah, Mayor Browning, it has been awhile. I’m sorry that we had to meet again under such circumstances.” Tyrdra stopped several feet away from the haggard men, feeling safe with Dalton at her back. “Have we a guess at how many Dracairei there are?”
The men in front of the church looked between the Mayor and Tyrdra, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. No doubt a beautiful woman casually strolling up to them in the middle of a battle zone was disconcerting. Dalton at her back stood looking towards the buildings around the square, keeping alert for any danger.
“We are guessing at least ten, but that is all conjecture, based upon reports from those coming in from different parts of town,” Mayor Browning said.
“Alright,” Tyrdra said, looking around at those assembled in front of the church. The first few rows were made up of men in their prime. Some of them had a few minor wounds, but most looked in good condition. Behind them, there was a mix of men too young to yet be fighting, and older men, too old to be of much use beyond holding a shield in this kind of situation. “We took four out on our way in.” Several of the men muttered at this.
“We believe that our men were able to kill one as well, so there are more than likely at least five left out there,” the Mayor said, eyeing the rooftops. “We…”
She heard the telltale sound of several quarrels being fired from crossbows, and a moment later Dalton was a blur of action. He raised the tip of his sword to her head level, deflecting the first bolt. While the top of his sword was in motion, he moved the hilt closer to her body, allowing the blade to cover a large portion of her frame, deflecting two others. He grunted as one of the bolts hit his shoulder. The material would be strong enough to take several shots like that before breaking through, but she knew that he would have quite the welt there shortly.
“Well, I guess that means there are definitely at least four left.” Tyrdra sighed. “Nice reflexes, Dalton.”
The guards in front of the building suddenly had a new level of respect for the young swordsman behind her. They had just seen a display of speed and skill that was well beyond any of them. She saw several of the younger men looking at Dalton with awe, and a few more with looks of jealousy, but looking at the defenders, she saw something else that hadn’t been there moments before. Hope.
“What is your plan, m'lady?” Mayor Browning asked, his eyes wide.
“Is there any other way into the church?”
“There is a backdoor, but it has been barricaded, nothing short of a Cradium lizard is breaking through there.” He scratched his head, the few hairs that remained swaying in the breeze. “I suppose there is also the cellar, but the tunnels have been…” As he finished his thought inside his own head, he began to push towards the church. “Let them through!” He yelled back towards the guards as he approached the steps to the church.
She and Dalton began moving through the throng of people. It took some work, as everyone was pressed in tightly. A few minutes later, they were at a trapdoor leading down into the cellar. On their way through the church, they had heard several bolts striking the side of the building, Tyrdra tried to look around and see who the Shaper was extinguishing the flames, but there were just too many people and she couldn’t make out who it was.
An old stone stairway greeted them as they managed to move enough people to make the trap door rise. One wall of the cellar was lined with wine racks, bottles filling many of the slots. On the back wall there were shelves full of various roots and vegetables wrapped up for storage. There were also several pieces of old furniture down there as well, most covered in dirt and cobwebs. The Mayor moved to one of the wine racks, sticking his hand into the fourth level of bottles. Before he was able to accomplish whatever it was he was trying to do, they heard the sounds of metal grating against stone directly behind the rack he was standing at; the Mayor froze in place.
Tyrdra motioned for him to move away from the wine racks, and he slowly withdrew his arm to comply. He tiptoed towards them, each motion exaggerated to the point of being ridiculous. She grabbed his arm and pushed him up the stairs, whispering “Shut the door,” into his ear.
When the trap door was shut, they were left alone in complete darkness. The only sounds were those of the throng of people above them, and the slight sound of metal scraping stone.
Leaning close to Dalton, Tyrdra whispered, “Hold completely still, and control your breathing.” She moved them up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs and built a shield with the air around them, it would absorb any stray light that headed their direction, leaving them engulfed in shadow. Because the shield also prevented the light from the other side of it reaching their eyes, it would normally also leave them blind. However, she had learned long ago how to project the absorbed light on the inside of the shield allowing them to see an image of what was going on in the rest of the room.
It took several minutes, but light began to seep through the cracks of the wine rack as more of the mortar was removed from the wall behind it. Shortly thereafter, they began to hear stone scraping against stone as the wall behind the rack was pulled back on ancient hinges. A moment later, the wine rack silently opened, revealing the hidden doorway and the Dracairei. Four of them moved into the room, one holding a short stick with a glowing stone attached to its tip. They looked around the room and sniffed in disgust. Two of them moved up the stairs to the trap door.
“I think someone is standing on it,” one of them whispered back to his companions in the draconic tongue.
One of the assassins in back stepped forward, and in the light Tyrdra recognized him as the older Dracairei that she had seen on the roof outside the church. His voice was cold as he spoke.
“That’s not a problem; the four of us should be able to lift it even with half a dozen of them on top of it.” He growled quietly. “Now, let’s get this job finished before that Dragoness and her Knight can ruin everything.”
The two of them joined their companions on the stairs, and she put her hand on Dalton’s arm, squeezing it as they reached up to push the trap door open. He moved swiftly, his sword swinging low, removing the legs at the knees of the two assassins closest to them. As they fell, she stabbed one, and then the other in the throat, leaving only two assassins to contend with. Sadly, one of them was the older experienced Dracairei.
Having the shadows come out and slaughter two of their number in a matter of seconds surprised the pair, but they recovered quickly, tumbling down the stairs to have more room to maneuver. They each had two daggers in their hands in the time it took them to take a fighting stance. Dalton engaged them, moving swiftly to take the offense. He barreled through the pair, taking them by surprise, but they moved aside getting several strikes on his armor that did little more than leave scratches. Tyrdra realized what Dalton was doing a moment before he slammed the wine rack back into place, sealing off any hope of escape.
“The young one wishes to die; take care of the woman,” the older Dracairei said, moving in to battle Dalton.
“The only one who will die this day is you,” Dalton said in stilted Draconic, giving the Dracairei another moment of pause.
“So few of your people bother to learn the old tongue anymore, it is nice to see that some of the younger generation seem to care,” the old assassin said as he moved in, testing Dalton’s speed and reflexes.
Tyrdra lost track of their fight as the other Dracairei moved in to attack her. Her mind was registering things at a speed that few could match, but she still barely managed to avoid the first few attacks as they came in. She realized that any mistake she made in a fight against this one could be fatal, so she would have to do something quick and powerful to end the fight before it truly began. The next time her attacker swung at her she grabbed his wrist, and then his other as he came in with a slash to the side.
She sent a sliver of her consciousness into the assassin’s clothes and caused them to constrict dramatically. Unable to move or breathe, the assassin stared at her with terror in its eyes as she removed the daggers from his hands. He tried moving his hands to rip at the fabric, but his claws wouldn’t reach the fabric that had pulled back to halfway up his forearm. Next, he tried to get some of the fabric in his teeth, but only managed to choke himself more as the fabric around his throat constricted from his movements. Tyrdra pushed him to the side and he fell over.
Looking up to where Dalton was still fighting with the older assassin, she had to remind herself to breathe as she watched the dazzling display of martial prowess from them both. Dalton’s sword had a reach benefit over the assassin, but the Dracairei had two weapons and was slightly faster than the young Protectorate Knight. The assassin did everything he could to break through Dalton’s reach and strike a blow against the young man, and he succeeded several times. Unfortunately for the assassin, Dalton’s armor held up under each blow. Though battered and bruised, he managed to hold his own in the fight.
Tyrdra knew the moment when the assassin started getting desperate; his stance changed slightly, his eyes went wide, and he spit at Dalton’s face. Dalton seemed surprised by the move and the assassin dove in for the kill as his spittle hit his opponent in one eye. She almost let out a scream as she saw the assassin’s blade heading straight for Dalton’s neck, but Dalton used his offhand to grab the assassin’s wrist and twisted, taking a hard blow to the side from the assassin’s other dagger. A moment later, the assassin stepped back, dropping his dagger.
What she had failed to see in the dim light was that in taking the blow to his side, Dalton had slipped his sword through the assassin. The Dracairei master coughed twice and fell dead to the floor. The Dracairei that she fought was still struggling on the floor, his hands and head working in tandem to slowly move himself towards his master’s fallen dagger. She stepped over him kicked him in the face, dazing him. Grabbing his head, she reached into his mind with her consciousness and began reading his thoughts. She only had a few minutes to gather information before he stopped breathing, but it was enough for what she needed.
“There is only one more left, and he is securing the other side of the tunnel while these finish their work,” Tyrdra said, feeling drained. “We should finish this before one of us passes out. Nice work with the master. I thought he had you for a moment there.”
Dalton ripped off a piece of cloth from the assassin’s clothes and wiped his face. “Yeah, I was hoping he would think that as well. Let’s finish this and then find a place to get some rest.”
It took them a minute to find the latch on the wine rack that allowed it to swing open, and she picked up the stick with the stone to light their way down the tunnel. Using the assassin’s knowledge of the tunnels and the location of the last Dracairei, they were able to sneak up on him and finish the day’s work quietly.
They left the tunnels and exited from the back of a small tailor’s shop on the other end of the square from the church. Night was fully upon them now as they made their way back towards the defenders at the church. The news they brought was accompanied by a lot of excitement from people who hadn’t expected to make it through the night. Celebration was cut short, however, when the living remembered how many had been lost that day.
Mayor Browning found them rooms at a local inn whose owner had been killed during the fighting. After showing them to their rooms and thanking them a dozen times, he left them alone to take care of his remaining townsfolk. They went upstairs, and Tyrdra followed Dalton into one of the rooms and sat him down on the bed, where she began to undo the Shapings that she had put into place when the chaos had started.
“Let me see your bruises, I want to make sure nothing vital was damaged.” A moment later, she realized that she could have just fixed whatever was wrong with him when she was removing the Shaping from his mind and clothes. She moved away from him to set her mind back into its natural state, and when she finished, she realized that he was sitting on the bed with his shirt off, the majority of his torso was a black, blue, and red mess, the worst of which was his shoulder where the crossbow quarrel had hit.
Moving over to him, she put her hand on his shoulder. His only reaction to the pain was a slight flinch in his eyes. She set to work healing his body, using the last of her will to make sure that nothing would be permanently damaged. When she finished, his body was still a purplish blue in many spots, but they would dissipate within days, leaving no damage behind. As she turned to leave he grabbed her wrist, and she looked down into his eyes.
Oh no, not now.
“Stay,” Dalton said, and to her shame, she did.
He woke from his dream as he did many of them, confused as to where he was and who he was. Something in the dark was moving towards him, and a moment later he felt a foot connect with his side.
“Oye, brat,” he heard in the Orc’s language, the voice reminding him fully of where he was. Warak the Orc stood over him in the cell that the slaves shared. “Your friends have been telling some stories to the other Goblins, like you are some sort of big shot.”
Looking around the room, he noticed the two Goblins that he had saved were with the rest of the Goblins in a circle, all of them looked towards the boy and his tormentor. The two that had been with him looked down in shame, feeling the blame for what he was going through but not brave enough to stop the Orc.
“Leave me alone,” he said to the Orc in the man’s own tongue.
“Oh good, you know what I’m saying. Well then this should be nice and simple for you. You are in my spot,” Warak said, kicking him again with a laugh.
“This is my spot, and you should leave me alone,” the boy said, trying to project danger. It didn’t work and just made Warak laugh again, but this time it was a cruel chuckle.
“I’m glad you have some fight in you; I thought this might be boring.”
Warak went to kick the boy again, but he dodged the Orc’s attack by rolling away from it. He quickly got to his feet and balled his fists. “Please, leave me alone,” he said to the Orc, who seemed to take the plea as groveling.
“Don’t worry lad, I won’t kill you. But an example needs to be made.” Warak stepped in towards the boy and swung at his face.
Ducking under the hit, the boy moved in towards the Orc and swung at his face. Warak pulled back, and the boy cursed silently as he realized that his punch would miss, but as his punch came level with the Orc’s chin, a loud crack reverberated through the room and the Orc flew backwards several feet.
The guards, alerted by the sound, raced to the cell. Lying back down in his spot, the boy tried to pretend that he was asleep. When they arrived, there were several guards, each with a long stick of wood in hand.
“What’s going on here?” the head guard asked as he unlocked the door and entered the cell. Warak lay in the middle of the cell holding the lower half of his face with his hands.
“Rip’d,” Warak attempted to say.
“What’s that?” the guard said, moving closer to look at the Orc.
“I think he said he tripped,” Grelesh said in the common tongue.
“Tripped, huh? Well that fall dislocated your jaw, you are lucky that the Mage is still here.” He motioned to two of the guards to grab the Orc and help him out of the cell. As the guard turned to leave, he stopped at the cell door and turned back to the inhabitants of the cell, and the boy could almost feel the guard’s eyes on him when the man said, “I don’t expect anything like this to happen again.” The guard locked the door behind him, and the cell was completely quiet.
The boy peaked out at his cellmates and saw them all staring at him wide eyed. Great, just great.