Merdon drew his sword and stepped into the room cautiously. Any piece of information he could gather would be crucial. He only hoped the guards weren't as dead as the chiefs were. Looking at the bodies confirmed only one thing for him, Grot was alive. The dark-skinned orc wasn't among the dead in the room, and a couple other chiefs were absent as well. Along with the ones that had yet to arrive in the city, the orcs weren't without leaders, but they were without their equivalent of a king. It was a grim day and a spike of panic stabbed into him as he spun around and wondered about Sarel. Where was she, would she be safe with the stronghold like this? She hadn't been in bed and now there were bodies in the conference hall. She needed to be warned, the knight wasn't getting anything particular from his examination of the orcs by himself. They needed an expert.
As Merdon turned towards the door and walked forward, a whistling caught his attention. He threw himself to the ground in time to see a dagger go flying and then vanish in thin air. On instinct, he rolled to the side and jumped up, weapon drawn in the direction behind him. His teeth gnashed together as he saw the familiar face of the Eyes assassin from the forest. In the light, Merdon was able to get a better look at his face, not that it did him any good. The Eyes' self-proclaimed leader had the most typical features the knight had seen. Brown hair in a medium-length cut that was styled in a very common fashion, his nose, eyes, mouth, even his skin, seemed meticulously curated to be average. If he was standing in a crowd, even Merdon would struggle to pick him out among the dozens of other men he'd look like. Hiding in plain sight.
What stood out this time were his weapons. A pair of silvery daggers sat in his hands, one of which had been thrown at the knight just moments ago. It was clear he could toss them with abandon as they could return to him at any given time. The weapons also told Merdon the rest of the story with the chiefs' murder. Once again Avant was stirring up trouble with the orcs. Maybe everything Merdon had said was for nothing.
“I knew you'd be lurking around here somewhere,” the Eyes' self-proclaimed leader taunted. “Wondering where your little lizard went?”
Merdon's eyes went to pinholes as he grasped his blade with both hands. “If you've touched her,” he growled threateningly.
The assassin laughed and suddenly lunged forward with his twin daggers, the shimmering blades moving faster than Merdon could keep up with, his sword barely blocking one of them. The other gashed down his arm and made him flinch.
“She's around,” the killer said cryptically, dodging back from Merdon's counterattack. “Unlike the little black one, who sadly departed us this morning.”
The knight made a face before a sound caught his attention. He looked to the side and saw Grot standing in the doorway looking horrified, as he should have, but his eyes were locked on the dagger-wielding human.
“What did you do?” he rumbled, fists clenched.
The Eyes grinned. “You think I'm here alone? My men caught your lizard when we came in. She put up quite the fight you know, but too little, as it were.”
Grot's eyes filled with tears as he clutched at his chest. Merdon had expected him to roar, to jump into action against the killer before them, but, instead, he leaned against a wall and sobbed. Which left the knight on the back-foot against the assassin's attacks. He moved much faster than in the forest as if his choice of weapon had made him faster. Every time Merdon blocked an attack a different one slipped through. Within seconds his hands were a bloody mess and it was hard to hold his sword properly.
“Grot!” the human shouted, each sentence punctuated by the sound of dagger against sword as he blocked every possible attack. “Get it together. We have to deal with him now. He can't leave this room.” The orcs wouldn't believe their leaders had been assassinated without proof, and what better proof was the corpse of their killer?
The orc shook his head, causing the Eyes to laugh again and retreat. “I wouldn't,” the assassin warned, reaching behind the long table that encircled the room and pulling Sarel up over it by her arm. She was unconscious, which made seeing her feel even worse for Merdon. How long had they been in this room?
“You bastard,” Merdon growled, but he stayed put. Moving closer would get Sarel killed, but so would staying away. The man was living up to his claim of being a master assassin.
He laughed at the insult. “Bastard, yes, in fact. I don't know who my father was, so that's a very astute observation. Like the one you've no doubt noticed about moving. Any closer, the lizard finds out if she can breathe with a hole in her neck.” He glanced at the orc chief and added, “He couldn't, so I doubt she can.”
The knight grit his teeth and tried to think of something to do, anything that could get them out of there. Grot had been made useless with grief and Sarel was being held hostage too far away from either of them to get to before the killer did something to her. Nothing was coming to Merdon's mind. They had been completely outplayed and there was not a single thing he could do to help. He felt weaker than a newborn as he watched the Eyes tuck a dagger away and pull Sarel closer.
The assassin grabbed Sarel's arm and sneered, "Is this the one you used to throw that dagger, wench?" Unconscious as she was, the kobold couldn't reply as he twisted her arm in an unnatural way. The kobold shouted, waking in his grip, and then screamed in a pitch Merdon had never heard pass through her mouth as her arm snapped. Her voice only got worse as the Eyes jerked and bent her arm as she struggled, forcing the sight of pointed, pale white, bone to poke out through the blood and scales. Sarel squirmed helplessly as the Eyes pulled his other dagger closer to her. “Stop that,” he growled, succeeding in making her pause.
She had just come to in a strange room without knowing her situation. Everything was a mess in her mind and escape was the only thing in her thoughts, however impossible that seemed. Sarel noticed Merdon across the way and realized just how much trouble they were in. Confused as she was, the kobold was still a quick study. The pain in her arm, however, was immense and distracting her from any plays she could make to escape. Worse, the Eyes had been successful in breaking her primary arm, leaving her significantly weakened for any clever escapes.
“You want her to live,” the Eyes continued, “You stay back. Maybe I'll let her watch you get flayed, from her cage of course, when we catch you personally.”
Their eyes met. Merdon glaring, hateful, angry, already vengeful for what he'd seen, while the assassin's were filled with glee at the despair he was causing. The knight couldn't tell if he was just a psychopath or if he really thought he was doing the right thing. With such intense focus between them, it was understandable that the sneaky black kobold was able to fire a well-placed arrow from down the hall, catching the human assassin in the shoulder and forcing him to fall off the table backward. Leaving Sarel free to leap, tuck, and roll forward off it and to safety.
Shade sprinted into the room, daggers drawn, and smacked Grot on the leg with her tail as she passed. “Stand, verakt, and fight!” the kobold shouted as she dove over the table after the human she'd shot.
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Grot blinked and stared at her before snarling and grabbing a human-sized sword off the wall. He chased after her, his sadness replaced with anger at the trickery and rage for the grief he'd been caused.
The black-scaled kobold was a whirlwind of slices, the Eyes put completely off guard and wounded by her appearance it was the best he could do to avoid her, let alone the raging orc behind her. Shade's attacks were methodical, precise, and lightning-fast. Merdon couldn't keep up with her as she weaved, flipped, jumped, swiped, stabbed, almost all at once. She was all over her target, to the degree even Grot couldn't find an opening through her flurry of attacks.
“You were dead!” the Eyes shouted as he backpedaled away from her. “I saw it myself, my men had you by the throat.”
“Your 'eyes' are not so great as they seem,” Shade replied shortly. “Their cockiness was their downfall. Three men to kill me?” The kobold laughed and launched a dagger that the human assassin barely avoided. “It would take three of you to come close. Those men were hardly children to me.”
The Eyes gnashed his teeth and glanced at Merdon. The knight was holding Sarel in his bloodied hands while the blue kobold groaned and hissed over her broken arm. Taking the tables turning on him poorly, the Eyes kicked a chair towards Shade, which she easily leaped over, before pulling out a totem and snapping it in his hands. A burst of magic forced the black kobold back as a flash took the human assassin from their grasp. She yelled and hurled the chair he had kicked at the wall he'd just been standing at.
“Coward!” she yelled, her voice rising in a way even Grot had never heard.
The orc came over and put a hand, as much as he could fit anyway, on her shoulder. “He is gone, verakt. Nothing we can do about it now.” With a breath, the chief sunk to his knees, dropping his sword, and pulling the kobold into his arms. Shade, after a moment of heavy breathing, hugged the orc back.
“I am fine,” she said softly before pulling away and looking over at Sarel. The blue kobold was being cradled by bloodied hands, making things look much worse than they were. That bone sticking out of her arm was bad enough. “We need to tend to Quickclaw.”
Sarel was groaning trying not to move her arm, which Merdon was helping with by holding her as steady as he could. Tears were falling down his face but he was fighting through them. There would be time for sadness later when she was better. Grot and Shade came over and the orc chief winced at the sight. He hadn't fully taken in what had happened until right then and it was worse than he thought. The fact the kobold was holding on at all was impressive. He'd seen a few younglings break bones like that and pass out from the pain and fear.
“I'll get a shaman,” Grot said, moving towards the door, only to be stopped by Shade.
“That won't help,” the black kobold told him. “It takes them hours to set these kinds of wounds in orcs. They've never had to deal with a kobold before.”
Grot grumbled, “We can't leave her like that. What other choice do we have?”
Merdon blinked and looked up at them. “I can take her to Skyeyes, our friend, a kobold priest.” A healer.
“That's many weeks of travel,” Shade said, shaking her head.
The knight replied, “No, Verist gave us something for this kind of situation. An enchanted token to teleport us back to the tower and then back to where we teleported from.” One of the few things he'd kept on him constantly since entering Grot's village. Just in case.
“Are you sure?” Grot said, turning around. “Things aren't going to stop here just because you're gone.”
“Two days,” Merdon told him. “It shouldn't take more than that. I'll come back alone if I have to.”
The orc chief mulled it over and asked, “Your word?”
“I promise,” the knight replied seriously. “On her life.”
Grot exhaled hard and shook his head. “Get out of here.” There was nothing more he could say to such a claim.
Merdon reached into his pocket, holding Sarel with his knees and one hand while he pulled a coin out and clutched it tightly. He focused on the magic inside the token, letting it envelop him, pull him and Sarel back to the tower, to the point of its origin. They shimmered and vanished, fading out of existence. A human and kobold, battered and bloodied, disappearing from a room full of dead orc chiefs. Grot realized the implications the moment he turned back to the door and found several armed guards rushing towards the room.
“You know,” he muttered to Shade. “I hate the saying better late than never. I was kinda hoping these guys were dead.”
Hours later, in the capital of Avant, a man sat in a chair that was placed at the head of a table in a cozy conference room. A fire kept the spring chill away, especially being on top of a mountain, while he leafed through a proposal. The elf that had put the papers before him sat at the other end of the table awaiting a response. Her long golden hair was second in notability only to her piercing, icy gaze which was focused entirely on the king. His crown was heavy, metaphorically and literally, as he looked through the pages of a new trade agreement. He didn't like what he saw, not for his people.
Their meeting was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a guard. The panting guardsman bowed as he entered, a pair of men outside closing the doors he'd opened, and approached his king. He moved slowly, catching his breath before addressing his liege. The king waited impatiently.
“We've received word of the Whisperer, your Majesty. From the Left Eye,” he said hurriedly.
“And?” the king said, slowly, drawing the word out, spurring the guard onward.
He stood a little straighter and replied, “The Left Eye found him in the orc capital, as we predicted. He took care of the orc chiefs, however, he claims in the middle of subduing the Whisperer, an orc appeared and injured him.”
The king stood with a frown that turned into a sneer. “So, Rebeun has been playing with his food again,” the leader of Avant guessed.
The guard swallowed silently, but the elf across the table laughed. “Now do you see the folly in keeping such creatures?” the elven ambassador asked. “First you have a break out facilitated by some kobold loving murderer, and now you've chased him to the orcs' home only to lose him once again.”
“The kobolds are useful,” the middle-aged king told her, stepping closer to respond. “They are not only a great commodity to trade with, but they're also cheap physical labor. Most of this city was built on their backs, for humans.”
The blonde elf shook her head in disgust, and it was the last thing she ever did. In a flash, the king's sword came from its scabbard and buried itself in her chest. She looked down in horror before slumping against her seat. A precise stab to her heart, in her chest and out her back. Behind the king, the guardsman stood as straight a pole, waiting for his orders, hoping he wasn't next for seeing the killing.
“This is my refusal to your proposal, dear,” the king whispered before wiping off his blade. “Take the body to the Eyes. They will be pleased to know the Whisperer has struck again. I'm sure the elves will understand if we don't renegotiate with our city under such duress.”
The guard asked no questions, he only saluted and asked, “What of the orcs, my Lord? The Left Eye is sure to have roused their anger. He was spotted before fleeing.”
“Yes,” the king admitted. “I'll have to punish him for continuing to play around with this threat. As for the orcs, strengthen patrols in the North.” He paused and glared at the guard. “Was that all?”
“Th-there was one other thing, good news, sire.” The king stood still, not responding to the guard's pause. He was getting tired of them. “Our mages have discovered a counter-spell to get us through the witch's forest. We can assault her tower directly,” he said quickly, hoping to keep his head.
Thankfully, the king softened and smiled. “Excellent news, soldier. Prepare a full assault squad immediately. I want the witch dealt with. She's been a thorn in my side for much too long.”
The guard saluted again and moved, quickly. He grabbed the body and, with some difficulty, pried the door open and carried the elf out, leaving the king alone.
The king sat back down and lifted a paper again. “As if I would possibly agree to this,” he spat, tossing the paper into the fireplace. “I thought these elves were supposed to be intelligent. Then again, my own men have been confounded by a man whose special talent is speaking to kobolds.” He growled and threw all of his papers into the fire before standing up to leave the room. It had been a long time since the last attempted rebellion, and the king was getting tired of them happening at all. “Perhaps Rastar has a point. These lizards need a tighter leash.”