Exill spotted the Wizard amongst the attackers but immediately lost sight of the robed figure when another arrow forced him to take cover behind the shield. The archer was beginning to get on his nerves, but there was little he could do to pin the slippery opponent down.
‘Channelling an earth wall will block the side street that archer is in, but it will use up half my mana…’ He immediately rejected the idea. ‘On the other hand, a fire wall consumes less mana but it risks spreading to nearby houses.’ He snorted, amused by the concern for others’ property while his life was on the line, but he wasn’t so eager to settle one debt, only to be saddled with an even larger one.
Through their party connection, he could sense Mattan and Envy similarly pinned down on the other side, feeling their frustration leak through the mental connection.
Wary of further projectiles, Exill channelled a quarter of his mana reserves into the wall behind him, shifting the material away from the centre. He then struck the weakened spot with the haft of his spear and was pleased to see it emerge on the other side.
“Raaargh!” Mattan crashed through the earth wall like a battering ram, his face crimson with berserker fury. The hulking mercenary was followed by Envy who covered their rear with a raised buckler. They advanced as a unit, approaching the side street up ahead and forcing the archer to retreat.
‘Where is that damn Wizard?’ Exill moved cautiously, wary of sudden dangers.
Four scoundrels wearing plain clothes, their faces concealed with linen veils emerged from the archer’s place and Exill could spot another half dozen up ahead, deterring pedestrians from wandering into the site of ambush.
“Ten ahead!” he shouted, and heard Envy respond, “Eight behind!”
Employing such numbers against them, as well as the services of a Wizard… their opponent had obviously gone all out. Exill remained confident they would pull through as superiority in numbers meant little in this passageway that was one-and-a-half shoulder widths wide.
To shift the battle slightly in his favour, a small earthen lip emerged from the ground ahead when Exill channelled 10% of his mana reserves forward. The scoundrel in front easily stepped over the obstacle but those following stumbled, pushing the lead attacker into Exill’s spear.
Mattan harpooned the second man, giving Exill room to fire consecutive ice bolts into the stomachs of the remaining two. The limitation of ice bolt was that the finger sized darts of ice lacked penetrating power and took considerable mana to propel. However in these tight quarters, it was enough to give the opponents pause.
This earned him enough time to free his spear, shield bashing one rogue aside for Mattan to finish while impaling the last of this wave. They were scoundrels who preyed on the weak, and were no match for seasoned mercs who put their lives at risk each day.
“Watch your feet!” Exill shouted as he stepped over the magically conjured obstacle. He hurried down the passageway, narrowly dodging an arrow when he poked his head down the side street, spotting three more rogues in the distance.
‘Damn, six ahead, and three to the side, with heaven knows how many on our tail…’ He was tempted to follow the path of least resistance, but it would only take them further away from the slave market. Exill leapt past the exposed street with three rogues towards the six remaining enemies, all the while shouting at the top of his lungs where he saw pedestrians in the distance.
“Eleven behind!” Envy shouted when she saw three more enemies reinforce the pursuing force. Yet they kept their distance, striding confidently towards the trio with twisted grins ill-concealed behind veils. They pelted rocks at the snarling Murderess, the projectiles clattering against the buckler and bruising her exposed shins as they jeered what they would do to her once they caught her.
Exill grit his teeth when he heard their taunts, focusing on the four out of the six who had peeled off to engage them. There was only 50% mana remaining and he needed that to cover their retreat, meaning his bag of tricks was severely depleted.
Changing tactics, Mattan and Exill formed a staggered spear wall and pressed the rogues back with their extended reach. They didn’t necessarily have to kill the enemy… it would still be their victory to push the foes back into the main street, where it would be harder for the patrolling guards to ignore the skirmish.
“Guards, Guards!” Exill shouted as they inched towards the exit. He smiled as alarmed shouts could be heard from passing pedestrians and the faces of the scoundrels grew nervous, knowing their time was running short.
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Exill knew the moment was at hand when the sharp trill of whistles could be heard far away. The faces of the six in front of him paled before the long arm of the law, and one-by-one, melted off into the crowded streets. Spotting the opportunity, Exill channelled the remainder of his mana reserves to guarantee their escape. An earthen wall erupted in front of Envy to cut off the desperate attackers who had realised their quarry was no longer cornered.
“Run!” he shouted, and rounded the corner, pushing people aside while sprinting towards the slave market entrance a hundred meters away. Exill didn’t stop and ran past the surprised guards until he was finally safe in the enclosure of Diallo’s compound.
The trio paused to catch their breath, wheezing as they nervously kept an eye out for pursuers, but nobody came after them.
“All this for a woman?” Mattan questioned, his barrel chest heaving for air.
Scowling from the migraine induced by mana abuse, Exill staggered into the nondescript building and hammered angrily at Diallo’s office door, ignoring the frantic assistant who rose to stop him,
The slave trader emerged with a deathly glare, which quickly turned to surprise upon recognising the Witchdoctor. Exill shoved past him and forcibly entered the room, dropping multiple coin pouches with a heavy thud on the ornate desk.
“5200 Denars… here are the remaining four instalments.” Exill whispered, too tired to maintain his anger.
Diallo’s composure returned as he seated himself behind the desk, deftly counting and sorting the pile of coins. Satisfied with the amount, he checked a clay tablet for the treatment records.
“You overpaid by a hundred Denars if we take into account the slaves you treated for haemorrhoids three weeks ago.” The slave trader stated while sliding a silver coin back to the young man. “Your contract has been fulfilled, effective immediately.”
[Ping!]
Exill felt a new job unlock, as well as a deep resonance within him, signifying the notarized contract’s hold had been lifted. He unwittingly leaned on the trader's desk, feeling the tension leave his legs. Diallo scrawled a message on a scrap of parchment, handing it to Ivar, his assistant who promptly took it away.
“I have sent a message to the person who purchased your debt, informing them of the contract’s closure. It would be best if you stayed here for an hour or so, until… misunderstandings have been settled.” Diallo suggested in a monotone voice.
Exill shot him a dark look, finally confirming the debt had been sold, despite the slave trader’s best assurance it would never happen. He stepped out to meet Envy and Mattan who were leaning against the wall, tired but alert.
“It’s over” he said, placing a silver coin in Mattan’s palm. “We need to hang around here for another hour, but you are free to leave… thank you for your help back there.” Exill gripped the mercenary’s sweaty forearm in gratitude, dismissing him from the party.
“Call me anytime kid, I owed you one anyway.” The hulking mercenary shrugged then turned to leave, hefting the heavy harpoon against one shoulder.
Exill turned to Envy who was watching him intently. He opened his mouth to speak but faltered as words failed him. After all, what was there to say?
For him, the ordeal was over. He was no longer shackled to the burdensome debt. However for her, the only thing that had changed was the name of her official master. Regardless, a celebration was the last thing on his mind, not after the hellish obstacles he had just overcome. The fire of hatred burned deep inside him.
“Someone tried to hunt me down and hurt Tsarra… and I’m going to make them pay.” He said bitterly, turning to enter Diallo’s office.
The door remained open, and the stern man was pouring out a glass of dwarven spirit, which he offered to Exill wordlessly. The Witchdoctor downed it in one shot and asked the question raging in his mind.
“Who bought our contract?”
Diallo closed his eyes and exhaled softly, feeling the venom in the young man’s voice. It was understandable really, he would be furious too if their roles had been reversed, that was why he didn’t want to be involved in the first place, but fate had other plans in mind.
“I wouldn’t have warned you if I wanted to sell your debt in the first place.” Diallo began, while seating himself on the edge of his desk. “But… the rental agreement for this compound expired and I had no choice.” He finished with a sigh.
“So who was the buyer?” Exill asked, barely controlling the acrid anger burning in his throat.
“A shell company. Even if I knew their name, my notarised contract forbids divulging their identity. You won’t be able to torture it out of me either.”
“Then where did you send that message?” Exill demanded, growing increasingly frustrated.
“I can’t say that either.” Diallo replied, but his eyes flickered briefly to Ivar, his assistant who was seated outside by the counter.
Exill caught the eye movement and he moved away, leaving Diallo’s office door open as he entered the lobby. The hunched assistant nervously glanced at the approaching bloodstained man, emitting a deathly aura of decay.
“Ivar, what is the address of the message you just sent.” Exill asked, his frigid voice lowering the temperature of the surrounding area by a few degrees.
“Uh- um… I cannot recall-” Ivar’s stammer was cut short when Exill levelled his spear at the man’s throat, his emerald eyes glinting in determination.
The hunched man’s eyes swivelled to the left, but Diallo remained seated on his desk, deliberately refusing to meet his Assistant’s eyes. Only then did Ivar understand his master’s intent, and after an agonizing pause, he reluctantly whispered the information that Exill so desperately sought.
“Room 304 of the Courtyard Inn.”
Ivar hoped this leaked information wouldn’t be the cause of his death.