“Go to Regis first!” Martell barked at Till who was trying to pray his hands away from the wound in his stomach.
“Shut it, Mar.” The apothecary’s stern gaze brokered no arguing. “Inney is tending to him. Besides, there is little I can do for any of you without my wagon…”
There was obvious pain in Till’s voice. The Second was aware that the old man was close to useless as a fighter. At least he was before the Hollow Gods had changed them all. A single look was enough to convince Martell that the apothecary was more than capable of joining in in a fight. However, Till lacked the skill the other Slayers had amassed on numerous battlefields and in twice as many brothel fights. But given time, he too could learn. The only issue was that Martell was uncertain if there would be a tomorrow for them at all. With his gut split open, he knew his fate.
“Be honest healer, how long do I have before a meet the ancestors?” The Second said in a resigned tone.
“It’s bad, Mar…” The apothecary’s face turned sour. “You’ll suffer the indignity of having grandchildren…” With that Till clapped the man’s shoulder and laughed.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Martell shouted and looked at his wound.
The flesh was raw and tender to the touch, but his insides were no longer trying to escape. Dark red, almost black, blood marred the spot where the axe had bit into him. Martell understood that there was a reason for this and he could almost find it buried deep inside his mind. But every time he came close to realisation, the thought eluded him and sparked a fresh pain inside his skull.
“Look around you, Mar,” Till smiled. “We killed orcs the likes of which no one has ever seen. We killed a champion of the gods. And all of us live to tell the tale.”
“Has your mind rotted old man?” The Second could not believe what the apothecary was saying. “The greenhorn is as good as dead. Asmund is greeting his ancestors. Regis is lost to us and the Cylin…”
Martell spared a glance at the girl. Her skin had blistered and bright puss wept from almost all of the boils covering it. Her hair was falling with large chunks of flesh attached to it. Boiling blood dripped from her mouth and nose and her eyes had turned almost entirely black. Nadene and Sarduk were kneeled next to her and performed their sacred rights to help her with the pain in her final moments. And yet, the end was not coming for her. The Second found it difficult to comprehend what was going on there. It was best to leave magic to mages, a painful but valuable lesson he had learned early in his life.
“Dominique will be just fine. The change is a marvellous thing. I must admit that I share Regis’ passion now. We’ve found it, Mar! Immortality!” A madness Martell had never seen before danced in Till’s eyes.
“We heal wounds as quickly as dragons. Keep his arm attached to where it is supposed to be and Asmund would be back to his full strength in just a few minutes!” Suddenly the apothecary’s face darkened. “Understand me very well, Mar. The girl might be given a place amongst us, but she is yet to earn it.”
“She took the lives…” The Second’s voice was cold and the warning was clear to understand.
“No, she did not. Lilly has confirmed only sixteen kills.” Till’s strong hands prevented the younger man from standing up from the cold floor. “And before you argue that the spell, she used, has killed far more than twenty people, those kills cannot be confirmed, Mar. No one saw them.”
“It is not up to you to decide that apothecary.” Martell’s fingers closed around the old man’s forearm, ready to break the hand.
“Listen to me, my young friend,” Till pleaded with him in a hushed voice. “The girl is a force to be reckoned with, but she hasn’t completed the rite. It’ll not sit well with the others when they learn of it.” The apothecary’s eyes narrowed. “No exceptions, remember.”
Sarjak’s ugly mug came into Martell’s field of view as the former murderer stepped behind the group’s healer. The stocky man was the only one loyal to the Second first and had prepared the mace, he had picked up, to strike at Till’s head. Martell slightly shook his head and suppressed the sigh of relief as he saw the weapon lower. Slowly he let go of the apothecary’s arm.
“Go and see to Regis.” It was both a command and a peace offering. One that Till understood.
Without saying anything more, the old man stood up and walked towards their leader, only sparing a glance at the silent Sarjak. Martell could see that Inney was caressing the commander’s head and was whispering something in his ear. As if on cue, Regis opened his eyes and gave the elf a passionate kiss.
The Second took the offered hand from the mute man and leaned close enough to him, that he could almost taste the man’s sweat as he whispered into his ear.
“Never again threaten Till.” Martell pushed away and looked Sarjak in the eyes, daring him to challenge his order.
“I… untersant…” The words startled the Second. Clumsy as they were, they were words that the mute had spoken.
“By Jethra!” Martell exclaimed, evoking the name of the plague bringer and grabbed the man by the shoulders. “Did you speak or have I finally lost my mind?”
Instead of speaking, the former murderer opened his mouth and revealed a tongue where there once was none. Sarjak’s ugly face twisted into a childish grin and tears danced into the corners of his eyes. He placed his meaty hands on Martell’s shoulder in a proper warrior greeting and nodded.
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” The Second couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice.
“Ve…ry… hart… to…speeek…” The reply was given slowly and it was clear the man was struggling to pronounce the words. After a moment he narrowed his eyes and added, as he felt Martell’s fingers tighten over his shoulders. “Secr…et…ssafe…”
At that, the Second increased the force of his grip on the murderer’s shoulder. The message was clear – none of the Slayers were supposed to even suspect a thing. They could never know what Inney, Nina and Martell had done to secure Regis’ position.
“Once we are done with the Hollow Gods, there will be time for you to learn how to use your tongue.” The Second removed his arms from Sarjak and gave him a slight nod. “Stay close to Asmund, I doubt he is going to take his brother’s death lightly.”
Without saying anything more the stocky man moved towards the northerner. Martell watched him for a few seconds as he helped Till with his crazy theory that the berserker’s arm could be reattached. He was glad to see that Mekset and Lilly were gathering around them, while most of the others were busy observing Inney and Regis and making lude remarks on their open show of passion.
Unwilling to join either group, Martell walked towards Cylin. She had felt so far away when she killed Vor, yet it was no more than eight steps from where the warrior lay wounded. Something in him screamed that he should keep away, but it was an animalistic instinct, one he recognised quite well from his time in the forests of Mardaar. He took a small breath and crushed the feeling, there was a time and a place to listen to it. Instead, he gave Nadene a meaningful look.
“She is not dead?” He asked the mage, unsure if he could trust his eyes.
“She is strong, but she lacks control. All we can do is alleviate her pain.” The woman shot him an accusing gaze.
Martell had become used to the strangeness of their eyes, but Nadene’s eyes were unnerving. He thought it best not to ask why hers were different.
“I do not know what spell she used, but the backlash is severe and disturbing.” Nadene continued and reached with her arm caressing Cylin’s cheek.
As soon as her fingers touched the girl, the woman’s skin blistered and darkened. The mage removed her hand and a second later the wounds began to heal. Martell observed in amazement as the limb returned to its pristine condition.
“Death is yet to claim her,” Sarduk added, brooding over the shamanistic symbols he had drawn around her. “I cannot make sense of the–”
“Do you see, you arrogant fools! We are the Slayer! We are your end!” Regis’ loud voice echoed through the corridor, forcing everyone to look at him.
The mercenaries joined their leader in a savage cry. Their leader picked up one of the axes Vor had used. The blade of light might have been gone now, but the metal it was made from was sturdy. The two protrusions between which the blade had formed could serve as spikes, similar to a pickaxe. The others gathered around the commander to have a better look at the trophy he had acquired.
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Martell, however, was worried by the absence of a response from the Hollow Gods. They must have observed what transpired in this place. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see Regis looking at him, fury in his eyes. So lost was he in his thoughts, that the Second had missed when his friend had approached him.
“The Bleak Walker has returned.” The commander said and a vicious grin split his face. “I saw it all, Mar! You’re once more the unyielding man, who used to strike fear in the hearts of the clans.”
Regis looked at Cylin and the smile grew. “Do you see now, my friend? Immortality is ours.”
Martell returned his gaze back to the girl to see her skin slowly clearing. Her hair was growing back and her laboured breathes were softening. The Second could see a similar smile appear on Nadene’s thin lips and even Sarduk allowed a small chuckle to escape his mouth. Everyone was embracing the change, yet, he could not stop worrying that the price they would have to pay would be far greater.
“I shouldn’t have doubted your words, Mar. She is a great addition to the twenty.” Regis made to turn away, but stopped and added loud enough for everyone to hear. “By killing that traitor, she’s earned the right to be one of the Slayers. Train her well, my friend.
Regis tapped lightly the Seconds cheek, looking into his eyes, his smile turning vicious. “But first, we have Gods to kill."
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The Slayers spent hours navigating through a maze of almost identical corridors, vast caverns and small chambers. And they had nothing to show for it. All they saw were more contraptions, constructs and bizarre items. At one point they had even stumbled on what must have been a sleeping chamber, but it could have been just another odd room similar to so many they had passed through.
During that time any trace of the wounds they had received in the fight were gone and forgotten. Cylin had joined the mage and the shaman at the back of the group and Martell had finally moved to the front. He and Regis were always the first ones in when a new room or cavern was discovered.
“This place is going to be the death of us.” The Second whispered as they entered a new corridor. “We could be trapped in here until the end of time. Your words and anger can sustain us for so long before hunger cools their tempers.”
“They cannot hide forever…” Regis paused and looked at him. “But I see your point. If we cannot find the Hollow Gods, they will have to find us.”
Regis turned to his comrades. Cold fury seeped through his words as he gave the command. “Destroy everything you see.”
It was something the leader of the mercenaries had been avoiding until now. The knowledge in his head warned him that whatever all the equipment around them was, it was far more valuable than its weight in gold. Well, if that was the case, it meant that it held far greater value to the Hollow Gods.
The group moved back into the room they had just finished searching and obeyed the order with gusto. Arcane instruments, glass canisters, crystal mirrors and metal constructs were smashed, crushed or ripped apart. Big Uhr tore one of the latter and threw it across the room destroying both the thing and the duo of metal pipes that run from the floor to the ceiling. Next to the giant, Mekset tore thick black ropes from behind one of the crystal mirrors.
Martell observed feeling nothing but detachment, however, he had to agree that this was a good way for the group to vent out their frustration. His attention was grabbed by Nadene and Cylin. The two mages unleashed their powers on the far wall, blasting a hole into it, in a frightening display of power. But the Second was worried that the expressions on their faces were too similar, almost as they were drunk on the destructive gifts they wielded. Horns began to blare and red light bathed the room.
“Miserable animals!” The voice of the Hollow Gods reverberated through the room as the horns stopped their song. “We offered you the honour to become our vessels! This is how you repay our kindness!? Zaxarax was a fool to have blessed you with so many gifts! It is good you killed him! And now you will die for everything you have done!”
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Viin felt exhausted, dirty and old. The last two weeks had tasked her both physically and mentally. To make matters worse, she was still waiting for a reaction to her outburst after the first dinner with the Altstarks. Instead, her employer had spent almost every minute with the Professor, ignoring his work and doing the Goddess knew what. That meant she was left to entertain both their wives.
At first, it was all normal and as much as she expected. They visited galleries, museums and theatrical plays. The secretary had to even arrange a visit to the old palace of Janek the Great. Although the royal family no longer inhabited it, and although it was theoretically opened to the public, arranging a private tour with twenty guards in toll had strained her abilities.
She had to bribe, threaten and sweet-talk a large number of lesser nobles and officials to make it happen. All the while keeping the identity of the visitors a secret. The media would have swarmed the place like locusts if they knew that an Altstark was in the capital. There were already a handful of paparazzi kept in detention in the GS building’s basement, who only proved her worries to be true.
In retrospect, that should have been the first warning of what was to come. How Viin longed for those first few days. Soon after the demands of the two women became outrageous. It wasn’t sudden at first. A request for some excitement by visiting a bar or two in the outskirts of the Residential Zone. After that, they had wished to see the Slums, most likely to mock the less fortunate than themselves, or stirred by some immoral fascination to see how people eked a living there.
Like tourists in a zoo, they observed the unfortunate masses of factory workers, lowly administration drones and servants, as they clogged the streets. Their passage had not gone unnoticed. Even the Goddess couldn’t hide the luxurious hovercar in this place. Subtlety, however, seemed to be missing from the two humans’ vocabularies. To Viin’s horror, the pair began to throw money out of the vehicle’s windows, giggling like children as they watched men and women fight over what Cylin and Lilly thought to be pocket change, but was a year’s worth of wages for any sane person.
From there the demands for entertainment began to escalate. Worst of all were the visits to the fighting pits in the depths of the Slums and the illegal auctions into the bowls of the Commerce. Viin had wanted to scream as she saw both Mrs Altstark and the former Mrs Regis, spent obscene amounts on stolen art and artefacts dated back to the First Empire. And then proceed to destroy them. Like the handful of love letters sent from Emperor Draik II to an anonymous lover, which could have potentially explained the reason behind his untimely death at the start of the tenth century. Or how Cylin had defaced a priceless two-hundred-year-old painting with florescent spray-paint, just because she didn’t like the artist.
Through it all, Viin had barely had enough time to take a shower and get three hours of sleep per day. Because of the demanding schedule, the elf had to stay in a guest apartment at the GS building. The bedroom alone was larger than her entire housing unit on the outskirts of the Slums. That, Viin considered a pretty good benefit for all she had to go through. There was even a package of foods and wines worth a year’s wage waiting for her, after she woke up to see Herr Altstark looming over her bed and examining her, on the first night. Of course, Lady Lilly had extracted her husband moments later by dragging him by the ear like a misbehaving child, and the transgression was not brought again as if it had never happened. That the elf had expected, the compensation, on the other hand, she had not.
Viin let out a sigh and leaned back into the leather seat of the car. Most likely this was her punishment for that damnable outburst. Or perhaps this was just how the extremely rich and powerful spent their days when they got bored. After all, there was nothing for them to actually do. They made more money just by sneezing than she would her entire life. And that was one of the reasons she found their latest demand confusing. The secretary was supposed to obtain six invitations for the private dinner party for Princess Aula Hester's birthday.
“All they have to do is make a call and nobles will be surrendering their invitations to them,” Viin grumbled, as she examined the contacts in her data-pad.
Well, the Altstarks could do it. Her employer would need to make a few donations here and there, but nothing that he would actually notice. The former Mrs Regis might get a pass as plus one. But the other two were going to be a problem. They were nobodies. Viin shook her head as she looked at the names again. Inney Asai was clearly someone very important in the Temple of the Goddess. But as the name suggested, she was an elf. The secretary could pull some strings and take some advantage of the Freedom of Religion Act, but even then, an invitation wasn’t guaranteed. As for Dominique Blutschmied – he was a nobody. Not even a hint about him on any of the databases or in the tabloids.
“Just some random citizen they want to torment, most likely,” Viin rubbed her tired eyes. “No… That’s Martell Regis’ former wife you’re talking about, you stupid girl. And a Lady Lilly is damn Altstark. They don’t make friends with random people on the streets.”
“And keep it a secret of the men, alright honey?” She repeated the words those two had whispered to her in a mocking tone. “You must’ve lost your bloody mind to have agreed to that.”
“You’re mumbling again, ma’am.” Rupert spoke in his usual fatherly voice from the seat across her. “You should get some sleep ma’am.”
He and Jonathan had been her shadows from day one. She was still unsure if they were there to guard her or watch her or most likely both. Viin had to admit she had gotten too used to them being near her.
“Ma’am, it is almost time to go.” Jonathan’s voice forced her to open her eyes.
“What do you mean? It should be four more hours until the people from Dom Q’s entourage clear the terminal…” She was surprised by how haggard her voice sounded.
“You’ve been asleep for the last four hours and twenty minutes, ma’am.” Rupert interrupted her.
Viin froze. She had missed meeting the people she was tasked with escorting back to her boss. That could jeopardise the contract they wanted to make with the famous musician. She was about to storm out of the car when Jonathan placed a hand on her shoulder.
“The first car has already left for HQ. We made sure of it.” The man gently pushed her back into the soft leather seat.
“New order, ma’am.” Rupert offered her a data tablet bearing the markings of Unit Twenty. “We are to meet one Lo’tul and escorts from the faith of the elven goddess.”
Viin froze and felt the blood drain from her face. She was supposed to meet a Rath’ar?! That was an honour reserved for priestesses and temple mistresses. This was a nightmare and a Viin actually said a prayer thanking that the two men were here to guard her. After all, she was a modified elf, something the Rath’ar’s guards would not take kindly.