Beth savored the shocked look on James’ face for a long pause before bouncing back to her feet.
She’d been desperate to find Bel but had nothing better to do than wait. Until now. Now, finally, after wasting four weeks, she had something solid.
The silly gorgon was a vital part of the Durak’s quest, yes. More than that, Beth couldn’t help but feel just a bit protective of the naive girl who she’d pulled out of the bowels of Technis’ High Temple.
Waiting around for news, not knowing if Bel was alive… it had been affecting her sleep.
Now that James was here and she had news of their wayward sister it was time to leave. Beth wondered for a moment if James would go along with her plans. The Otherworlder had never really warmed up to her, but she supposed that he wasn’t wrong to be careful.
Despite his reservations, Beth was still glad to see him – she had almost given him a hug! – and she knew that he would do anything to help her rescue their sister. She could practically see the relief oozing from his pores when he realized that she would once again swoop to their rescue.
Beth grinned triumphantly, but although James did his best to seem impressed she thought he lacked the appropriate enthusiasm for his rescue.
Maybe he’s just worn out.
James looked better with some of the worry wiped from his face, but he still looked worn ragged like a dirty old shirt. He was also in desperate need of a shave. And he smelled like something awful, too.
“C’mon kid,” she grinned, “let’s bust outta here.” And let’s stab some people on the way, she hummed to herself.
The Otherworlder looked, as always, skeptical. “Just how do you plan to do that?” he asked.
“Easy,” she proclaimed. “I’ve already poisoned the water with something that activates once their heart rates go up.”
James was aghast. “All the water sources? What about–”
“Oh stop,” she huffed, “just the communal barrel the guards are drinking from. I’m not some murder-obsessed degenerate.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” James agreed, with incomplete sincerity. That was okay; Beth would happily give up a bit of trust to maintain some of her natural mystique.
Beth sauntered up to the gate, immediately drawing the attention of the three guards. “Hey boys,” she called. “Anyone up for a knife fight?” She pulled out two of her daggers, spinning them through the air menacingly.
Two of the guards hefted their spears, while the third reached for his sword. They lifted their weapons into ready positions – and then promptly collapsed.
“Durak’s fist, that’s always a good one.”
Beth chuckled. Turning her blood into poison wasn’t always practical, but there were times when it was her best ability. It turned out that the same tricks that worked in the aristocracy were just as suitable in war. She grinned at how angry her parents would be if they knew she was using the education that they’d provided in this way.
“What’s so funny?” James asked.
“Oh, nothing much.”
Beth looked closely at the gate’s locking mechanism. It looked complicated. Certainly it was a higher quality lock than what she was used to picking. She shoved her lockpick into the keyhole and concentrated gnaw like loathing through the small tool. It probably wasn’t exactly what Durak had in mind with the ability, but Beth had learned to be flexible. She spun the lockpick around, slowly weakening the inner mechanisms of the lock. She pulled on it as chunks of metal began falling out of the device, until the lock tore like soggy paper. They were free.
“Let’s get my stuff,” she announced, “then we’ll see if there’s any valuable information here, or at least a map that shows where they took Bel. After that we can go retrace your steps.”
“I’ve still got my things,” James offered, “including my fighting stick.”
Beth couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “It’s just a stick, James, and they let you keep it because you tied it so tightly to your bag that you’ll never be able to untangle it.”
“That’s silly,” he objected, “I can free it easily.”
Beth ignored the red-head’s antics as she led him to the leafy mound where she had buried some of the things that she wanted to avoid carrying on her person. The Dark Ravager’s cultists had eventually gotten around to properly searching her, but by then she’d just been carrying some worn down kitchen knives and a small number of coins. They may have been gathering prisoners at a rapid pace, but the people here clearly had no experience keeping them.
Amateurs, Beth thought. A few heartbeats later and all of her knives were back on her body, where they belonged.
She made a silencing motion to James. “Now be extremely quiet. Actually, just hang back a few steps. I’m going to check out the command tent, and I don’t want you bumbling into someone dangerous.”
James was about to object, so she set off through the outskirts of the camp before he could start.
The command tent was a large rectangle, probably twenty paces on the long side. It had a single, guarded opening, although security was light: a pair of dour-looking men with spears in their hands and swords on their belts stood in front of the open flap. Like everyone else in the strange cult, the guards didn’t seem to be completely human. One of them was unusually tall and had a pair of nubs sticking out of his head, while the other was pudgy, on the short side, and had moist skin like a frog.
The exterior of the tent itself was a featureless tan material, but that just made Beth even more interested to see what they’d hidden within.
She gestured for James to wait in the woods as she crept closer, cloak of darkness gathering the shadows to mask her telltale movement through the woods. She flexed her fingers to keep them loose as she moved from shadow to shadow until she was shaded by the tent itself, at which point she knelt close to the ground and moved next to the fabric of the tent wall.
She gripped her dagger and listened for a moment, straining to hear any voices from the interior. She heard nothing.
Beth looked around, wary of a trap. The only other person she could see was James, who was watching her with a tense look. They were both concealed from the rest of the camp. Her silhouette was hidden from the interior of the tent as well, since she was on the opposite side from the sun. That being the case, she decided that no one would notice a little cut.
Pardon the intrusion, she thought mockingly as she slowly slid her dagger along the tent’s outer fabric. It parted with just a little tug of resistance, but once the slit was wider than her hand she heard voices and froze.
After a moment there was no change in volume. Beth put her exterior redecorating on hold and risked a peek inside. Whoever had set this up must have really liked tents, because she could see another, smaller tent within the first one. It was at an angle to the outer tent, dividing the outer space into four triangles connected by narrow passages around the corners of the inner tent. The opening to the inner tent was just visible to her, on a face of the tent that was at a slight oblique angle to her vantagepoint. The flaps were pinned open invitingly, beckoning her to come closer and take a peek at the cult’s hidden secrets.
Beth licked her lips in anticipation, but held herself back. She’d yet to identify the speakers. She held her own opening closed with her hands while still leaving a small gap for her vision and hearing.
Someone seemed to be in the middle of a report. Judging by the man’s voice and the way he rushed his words he either had to use the bathroom or he was delivering information both urgent and dire.
Beth frowned in concentration, but she couldn’t make out the words. Damn, it’s that weird language they use. She’d pieced together some of their words, but she wasn’t so adept that she could understand the snatches of a rushed conversation from ten strides away. She caught the words “Technis” and “Barrier” being used – maybe – but she didn’t hear anything useful.
Oh well, it doesn’t really matter. There are too many things happening around here anyway.
Her only real goal was revenge against her parents, her extended family, and Technis’ clergy, in that order. They would pay with a dagger through their throats for what they’d done to her first and only love, Henricus. Anything along the way was just a detail.
Beth leaned into the tent, drinking in the sounds of frustration emanating from within. She built a mental picture: a soldier reported; a harsh voice hissed back in response; a man with a voice like a creaking ship reprimanded. Finally, orders were given in a brisk, no nonsense tone. Beth saw most of the guards leave the tent in a hurry.
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Now was her chance.
She slid her blowgun from an inner pocket as she made her way back to her opening. She’d always preferred stabbing – it felt more personal – but stealth sometimes demanded sacrifices. The weapon was too light to get through the annoying barrier abilities that most of Technis’ followers used, but the Dark Ravager’s cultists didn’t seem to use that trick.
She pulled out a single dart, slipping it carefully into her mouth before slicing her tongue on the sharp point. Vile blood transmuted her blood into a venom that she let soak into the porous wood of the sharpened dart. Then she closed one eye so that it would adjust to darkness before she left the sunlight. After waiting a moment to be sure all was quiet she widened the cut in the tent wall. She paused, like a bird of prey taking one last look before swooping.
Someone was inside of the inner tent, but the flap was now closed. Most of the guards had left, but the shifting shadows suggested that a pair remained. There was no one else within her field of view.
Beth gestured for James to remain hidden and then slipped inside. She waited a moment, adjusting to the interior before moving again. She crept along the rug-covered ground until she could almost see the opening to the inner tent. She took a deep breath, held the dart in her teeth to easily load the tube, lifted the blowgun to her lips, and quickly leaned around the corner.
The farther guard noticed her almost immediately – he got a dart in his throat as a reward. The closer guard made the mistake of turning to look at his companion, gawking as the other guard scratched at his throat. He reversed his motion only a heartbeat later, but her dagger found his unarmored throat before his hand even reached his unsheathed sword.
She gently lowered his body to the floor and paused to listen for movement.
A minute passed.
She frowned. She was certain that someone had remained in the inner tent, and the first body had struck the dirt floor with an audible clunk.
She gritted her teeth and flipped open the flap to the inner tent.
It was empty.
She quickly scanned the interior, making note of an ornate table with a pair of chairs and some small boxes piled on top. The room was lit by a few magical candelabra, their magical flames eerily still around their ever burning wicks.
She slunk over to the desk, still expecting to find someone, but only shadows greeted her as she moved deeper into the room.
Something wasn’t right; her instincts screamed at her.
She instantly dropped into a crouch, twisting backwards so her eyes could sweep the room. Her reaction gave her barely enough time to push herself aside and avoid the sword aimed for her neck. Instead of losing her head she lost one of her braids to the potentially fatal sneak attack.
Beth dove and rolled, tossing candelabra in her wake in an attempt to gain some breathing room. The whistling sound of a swinging sword stayed with her, in spite of her impressive gymnastics. The threat of an unsatisfying and sudden end pushed her to keep moving or perish.
Beth wasn’t about to give up – she wove an intricate dance between her attacker’s strikes and leaped over the large desk, putting the heavy chunk of wood between herself and her assailant. She finally caught a glance at her ambusher: a heavily armored man at least two hands taller than her, effortlessly swinging a one-handed sword with a blade as wide as her neck.
She was shocked that the man was moving so quietly. He was fully armored in plates of some dark metal and his face was covered by an expressionless helmet that extended down past his chin. If she’d been wearing that much armor she wouldn’t have been able to leap over the desk at all, yet the man moved with a grace greater than her own.
His sword flicked over the table, then down to the side as he attempted to cut off her escape. Beth kept the solid wood between them as she feinted left and right. She needed a moment to assess his abilities, to figure out if his Path was full of passive physical enhancements or if he had some active abilities as well. She had to decide if this was a battle of attrition or one of carefully timed abilities. She needed to know if she had a chance at all, or if she would be better off turning tail and running.
The swordsman continued testing her with his sword, even as he began probing with his voice as well. “One of Technis’ little fingerlings, eh? You’re so late to the game that I’m surprised you bothered to show up,” he mocked.
Beth didn’t bother correcting his misconception. She had better things to spend her breath on, such as spinning around his sword as she attempted to dart from behind the desk and to the opening in the tent. The whistling of the sword through the air made her hairs stand on end as she barely avoided another nearly fatal attack.
She retreated behind the desk once again, hoping to catch her breath. The man paused to consider her.
“I wonder if you’ve just now realized what we took,” he said. “Even if you defeated us here – which you won’t, even after poisoning half of our force – you would still fail to get her back. I’d love to ask where you found her, but…” He tilted his head in the slightest of shrugs. “…interrogations aren’t really my specialty.”
He hefted his blade slightly, suggesting his preferred methods.
Beth’s eyes narrowed. She’d been doing her best to ignore his pointless blather – he didn’t have a clue who she was, obviously – but something about that last statement caught her attention.
Someone they took? Someone that Technis was also after? Was it Bel?
The moment of distraction was almost fatal. The swordsman lowered his sword and then swung up through the desk. Shards of debris spun in every direction, forcing Beth to flinch back or risk being blinded. The swordsman’s weapon hung poised above her, like a thundercloud waiting to strike. In the time that it took her to blink the dust from her eyes it was descending towards her like a bolt from the heavens.
Beth’s mind screamed for her body to move, but mechanics and her awkwardly placed limbs only allowed for so much. As the sword fell, she threw her favorite dagger at the man’s – a desperate attempt at a distraction – while her other hand desperately grabbed for the remains of the desk. She pushed against the heavy weight, using it to force herself backwards slightly faster.
It worked – barely. Her body moved back just a step and the swordsman flinched just a tiny bit, moving his blade just a finger’s width away from Beth’s body – but not from her arm, which was still extended, still pushing against the remains of the desk.
His sword shone with a hungry light as it cleaved straight through wood, flesh, and bone.
Beth couldn’t afford the distraction, so she didn’t look at her left arm lying on the ground. She didn’t spare a glance for the short stump extending from her shoulder. She’d lost her second favorite hand and her most favorite dagger, but she wasn’t going to go down without at least inflicting some hurt upon her opponent.
Even as her body reeled from pain and blood loss Beth forced herself forward; she dragged a new dagger from its sheath. She shoved her mana through cut like hatred and her dagger hungrily devoured the light as she stabbed it towards a weak point in his armor behind his knee.
Before her blow could connect, the man flexed his offhand. Metal moved like a living thing and he was suddenly holding his shield in the path of her dagger. Her attack bounced off harmlessly, the darkness itself shattering from the dark metal of his impervious defense.
Beth faltered from disappointment and blood loss. She caught herself quickly and focused her hatred upon her adversary: a coward who was hiding behind his armor and helmet. Bile burned her throat at the thought of the smug look on his concealed face.
He was a fool to spend so much mana deflecting an attack when he didn’t know the extent of her abilities.
Beth was a thief and an assassin, and she had plenty of ways to kill a man. She aimed her injured arm – now just a stump that ended above the elbow – and transmuted her spraying blood itself with both vile blood and heart of revenge. She gave up the majority of her remaining mana to create a crimson spray of death. She thrust her stump towards the slit in the man’s visor and was rewarded with a cry of pain.
Her vision clouded with fuzz and her movements were heavy and awkward. As the man stumbled backwards she hesitated rather than pressing.
She couldn’t win. She felt it in her bones, but her instincts screamed for her to do something.
So she ran.
She held her dagger in her mouth as she squeezed her stump with her remaining hand to reduce the loss of her lifeblood. Beth covered herself in consuming darkness while she ran to the slit in the outer tent, sending a shadow clone towards the regular opening as a distraction. She leaped through the slit and stumbled into the light of open forest.
She had hoped that there would be some kind of chaos outside, but everything was calm. She startled a pair of blue birds as she stumbled into the open; they flew to a nearby tree and warbled their disapproval. The only person she saw was James. He stared back at her with wide-eyed horror.
James. She was leading her attacker straight to him.
Twirl my tits, she cursed. Flight wasn’t an option if it meant leaving James behind.
Beth turned to confront her foe. She wobbled and struggled to stay upright, already woozy from her gushing wound.
I’m not even dying fighting Technis. This isn’t right!
The swordsman burst from the tent, a feral growl emerging from his throat. He had tossed his helmet aside to more easily wipe away her blood from his face, exposing a lizard-like face contorted with rage. He stared at her with eyes red and irritated but filled with his bloodlust.
The swordsman moved so quickly that Beth could barely stumble back to avoid the thrust of his weapon. She’d barely twitched out of the way when his shield struck her in the side and she doubled over in pain.
Beth staggered backwards, her one arm flailing for balance as she bit down on her dagger, holding on to the weapon through sheer spite.
A sudden kick to her gut sent her spinning through the air. Her dagger fell from her mouth with an explosion of breath from her lungs and went tumbling away when she landed. She desperately fumbled for it, her fingers scrabbling over dirt and rocks in her blind search.
Her fingers closed around the hilt – but too late. Her assailant drew back his sword for a finishing blow.
Then he jerked his sword high to block a swing from James’ stick, cleanly cutting the wooden weapon in half. Beth had drawn all of his focus; the swordsman had only noticed James at the last moment and had nearly been knocked in the back of his unprotected head. It was barely enough to distract him, but, for a moment, the lizard-man’s shield was thrown back, his sword was high in the air, and he was unbalanced.
And his neck was completely exposed.
A wordless cry emerged from Beth’s mouth as she flashed forward with her second favorite dagger. The moment it bit into flesh, she unleashed her abilities in a scream of rage and pain like a banshee shrieking into the abyss. The tall warrior may have been several times stronger and faster than her, but nearly all of Beth’s abilities were for killing. Whatever he had, whoever he was, he couldn’t stand up to her spite and desperation and her dagger through his throat.
His eyes locked onto hers as he writhed silently. He fought through muscle spams to push her back with his shield. He shakily raised his sword, but James grasped him by the neck and used one of his new abilities.
The strength left the swordsman’s body. He stumbled, dropping his weapon.
Beth took a step back and watched as her attacker collapsed on the ground, dead.
Then Beth followed him onto the ground. She stared up at a clear, cloudless sky, her vision filling with spots.
She could barely focus on James’ concerned face as he rushed up to her.
“James,” she croaked, “do something for me.”
“What?” he cried out as he grasped her stump. His face paled as he used some ability to staunch the flow of her blood. He was actually being useful – she was proud.
She gazed into his wide, green eyes. “I dropped my favorite dagger inside,” she croaked. “Could you–”
“Oh, shut up,” he snapped. “Just be still so I can stop the bleeding. I think…”
He wrapped a belt around her stump and twisted it tight before poking at the wound. “That’ll give me a minute.”
He screwed up his face as he looked at her raw flesh and bone. “Yeah, I think that you’ll live. We can worry about the loot after that.”