Chapter 42: The Man with the Golden Sword
She grimaced as she clambered up the sloped staircase. They were tilted just enough that she had trouble finding purchase on the smooth stone and needed to find purchase with her hands. The stone was a familiar jet black that she wasn’t thrilled to see.
She’d hoped to never return to the ziggurat, and here she was willingly entering its twin. Fortunately, it also meant she knew the place like the back of her hand, assuming the insides were the same. From what she’d seen so far, everything was identical save the state of its disrepair.
“Hey, this place looks like that temple we were just at” Dantes panted, joining her on the platform. He glared hatefully at the stairs, or as hateful as he could muster, which was really barely a glower in her eyes. Amateur.
“It’s the same, or close enough. Same number of steps up to this entrance. I never noticed the scrollwork around the doorframe though.”
She pointed out the carved obsidian trim: grasping tentacles confined to a thin strip around the entrance. The sun at the top was the same, though.
Together they entered the maw of the ziggurat, the darkness swallowing them as they made their way down the sloped corridor that led further in. Like being swallowed whole by an enormous beast, she thought. Without the levelness, the structure felt less intentional and artificial, lending to a growing sense of unease. She shivered a little at the thought, and quickly moved her mind to something more practical.
If she were going to store something in a ziggurat on a hidden magical island, where would she hide it? Obviously not the ritual chamber in the peak, there was no path inside that led up to it, and she’d seen the small group go through this entrance barely a couple minutes before them. The storeroom on the lowest floor probably. Or the prison cell. Both were down.
They made good time to the lower floors, the floor slanting in places causing them to slide down some corridors and climb up others using patches of moss to gain footholds on the smooth floor. Once, they came across a long rope anchored on a sconce leading down a particularly steep staircase. Mysteriously the torch still cast dim light, causing her shadow to distort monstrously, plunging down after the rope.
It was almost surprising they hadn’t yet caught up with the pace they were moving. Why the hurry? Did they know they were being pursued? But then better to make a stand, right? Or were they waiting in ambush around some corner? She gave up, unwilling to attempt to divine the thoughts of humans. Still, being quiet would serve them best.
“Looks slippery.”
Dantes had been doggedly keeping pace with her, though his build was ill suited to the indoor obstacle course that had been their descent.
“Feel free to stay if you’re scared, pooch. And be quiet, we’re almost at the bottom.”
“I’m no scaredy cat, and I am quiet” he whispered loudly.
“Only if that means clattering about like a marching band on caffeine” she whispered back.
She checked her equipment before continuing. She didn’t have much unfortunately. Two pepper balls, a knife and some of that [Sleep] powder she lifted from Hawk. She wished she’d made more of those honey candies she’d given Dantes. Unfortunately, he’d eaten them all, and the main ingredient, the honey, was unobtainable outside the grove. She only had a small dollop remaining.
It was too bad; she’d grown fond of the [Ghost] candies.
It didn’t matter though. If it was just two goons, she and Dantes could handle them together, even discounting Crow’s aid, such as it would be. He was a little old after all. Then they could run back to the ship and finally take a break from this whole adventuring business. Setting up an inn and cooking for weary travelers sounded nice. Not permanently. Just as a vacation. Dantes would make a cute innkeeper, too. But she’d want to travel more eventually, she thought.
She descended the stairs to the lowest floor, the one prison cell directly ahead of her, and the storeroom to her left, but no sign of anyone.
Had she missed them on the way down?
She shouldn’t have. There was only one path. And she’d come across their rope, so they should be here somewhere.
She looked through the storeroom again while Dante finally clambered down the rope with some measure of grace behind her. Anything stored here must have decayed long ago because the room was quite barren, save the mushrooms growing on some moss in the corner. Poking through it with a foot, she found the rusted remains of what could have been a nail. Just boxes of stuff, reduced to nothing over millennia of neglect.
She wondered what became of the original Cult of the Sun. Was this another temple for its followers, or were they related another way? The two temples were nearly identical, save the carved stone trim in the hallways. She looked now at the tentacles grasping and flowing over each other like waves. Yum. She’d always wanted to try octopus. Or was it squid?
She doubted the cult always was what they were now. Or used to be, she supposed. Without Colin behind the scenes, she doubted they would survive until the next eclipse. Most of the cultists seemed at least half decent. Only Victor and the Master of Ceremonies were really in the know; the others really did think the sun would go out forever. Without the core members, the only thing she could see lasting was the festivities portion. Hopefully without the sacrificing people bits.
A muffled shout of pain from the central dais broke her from her thoughts. A closer inspection revealed there was a hole at the base, mostly hidden in moss and vines. There was also a smooth stone slab that half covered it, the remnants of a trap door mechanism long broken.
She gestured for Dantes to follow quietly mentally wincing at the oxymoron. Fortunately, there was a low groaning coming from below that masked the sound of their approach.
Together they crept down the dark stairwell, pushing aside loose bits of vegetation. Up ahead she saw a light peeking through the hanging vines, and some dark shapes obscuring it. She rushed ahead to get a better look, hearing a soft scoff behind her as she went. She did feel a twinge of guilt leaving him, but she crushed it. This wasn’t the same thing as leaving him behind. She was just being tactical. If she were going to get the drop on anyone, it would be better to do it before her companion announced their presence with his graceless descent. She winced as she heard the swish of vines behind her. Hopefully the agents were preoccupied with something else. Like banging pots and pans together or covering their ears.
As she came to the landing, she saw realized where they were. Beyond the pair of obsidian doors, she saw gold. A hill of gold, stacked up to nearly the vaulted ceiling. Golden statues and golden medallions displayed on suits golden armour. Shiny things everywhere, glittering in the torchlight. She even saw a golden toilet in the back corner.
But her gaze was quickly drawn to the empty center of the hoard where two agents were crouched around a rowboat in their standard garb of red and black. Beside them, a man lay facedown on the floor, a dark liquid pooling around his head. Dantes would not like that. At the thought of her impending friend and the violence he would promise, she quickly slipped to one side of the entrance, hiding in the shadow of a pillar where she could better listen on the agents’ hushed conversation.
“But why a boat? It’s dumb.” said the taller agent.
“It’s not dumb if it works. Look, it’s enchanted to be near frictionless to make getting it through the jungle easier. And weight reduction. Very useful. And obviously they wouldn’t want to attempt enchanting the box directly. The runes are actually quite robust… look here” the other pointed.
“I don’t care about the quality of the runes, Two. Now that we have confirmation it’s here. I’ll send the signal.”
From his pocket, the agent withdrew a stick of wood, flat, about as long as his hand and glowing with inscribed runes. He tapped it a few times on the floor, blue sparks skittering away before being consumed by the long shadows.
“It’s silly we still use those. That magic was outdated a hundred years ago.”
“I don’t need to hear it, Two. It might only reach a half mile, but it can’t be intercepted, and it’s the best for penetrating runic stone like we have here.”
A moment of silence passed before the stick shattered in a burst of orange sparks.
“He’s on his way” said tall one.
“Wait, he’s coming himself? One, I thought-” Two started.
“It doesn’t matter what you think. He’s out for blood. Let’s hope his is enough” One prodded Crow with his foot. “Actually, we’d best make sure he doesn’t bleed out. He may be wanted alive.”
Two let out an annoyed sound but crouched down to pour something over Crow’s head.
“You’re the one who clubbed him. Why’d he even bother running if he was going to lead us straight here, you think?” asked Two, apparently done stabilizing Crow.
“Don’t care. We did our assignment to the letter, and now we wait for the Sultan here.”
“Always such a hard ass when you’re on duty. That’s why you’re his favourite dog, you know?”
“Without him, we would be nothing. We owe him everything.”
“Except that part of the report where we almost let the prisoner escape, right?”
“…The trivial details can be excluded.”
Another shiver ran through her. The two agents must have also felt it because Two pulled his cloak a bit tighter. The taller agent One made no visible moves, though a frown passed his face. Unfortunately, Dantes must have also felt it, because a loud thud echoed in the vault as he finally reached the landing flat on his butt.
“What the? One, front for me, I’ll secure the stairs” Two shouted, quickly getting over his surprise at seeing a huge man tumble in behind them. Wordlessly One shifted to stand between his partner and Dantes.
Dantes, on the other hand, saw Crow lying in a puddle of his own blood and let out a snarl, ripping the stick from his belt and extending it with a flick. Always showing his hand too early. He was too innocent for combat. Not like she was a great judge.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Haven’t you had enough? Everywhere I go, you agents are scurrying around like rats, trying to steal away my friends. Enough!”
In response to Dantes’ outburst, One drew the sword at his waist, taking a defensive stance. Or what seemed like a sword until he drew it. It was just a sword hilt, but the danger she felt when she saw it was no lesser than when the ritual dagger had plunged towards her chest. She could see his gaze darting all over, from Dantes, to the staircase behind him, and to the shadows in the corners, completely missing her, of course. Behind One, Two was muttering something under his breath, focused completely on the staircase.
As Dantes approached, the vegetation in the staircase rippled and grew, vines blooming, moss multiplying into thick carpets, and little saplings growing large. The staircase was now impassable.
They expected hostile reinforcements.
Dantes noticed, and grinned.
“No more running” he said.
With that he swung forward, still well out of reach of One. Or would’ve been if the staff didn’t grow mid swing, the tip brushing the agent’s cloak as he backstepped, sword hilt still at the ready, but making no move to approach.
He was buying time for his partner to complete another spell, she decided. Something she could do something about. She didn’t know how strong the spell would be, but One seemed to be in no rush to approach, his face blank and unreadable. He wasn’t staying back out of fear, but because this was the path that best ensured his victory. Black eyes glinted gold in the torchlight, cold and calculated and laser focused on Dantes.
Which was perfect for her, because it left her an opening to slip by unseen. If either man saw the shadows flicker unnaturally in the corner of their vision, both were too well trained to let it show.
Unfortunately, while she could get past One easily, the small hill of loose gold coins encroached the sides of the room and would her out of the shadows. She didn’t want to jump out of the shadows only to be met with a fireball to the face, so she waited in the shadows for her chance.
Fortunately, Dantes was doing a great job holding attention. He was quickly turning into a veritable whirlwind of strikes, slashes and thrusts, faster than she’d known he was capable of. In return, the agent gave ground, hopping back out of his range at the last second, bladeless hilt still raised in defense.
Eventually, the agent must have either decided he had a thorough enough grasp on Dantes’ abilities to approach, or felt they were fighting too close to his partner, for after a particularly vicious swing resulting in a loud crack and a subsequent cascade of gold coins, the agent dashed forward, quick as a coiled snake.
While she wanted to wait and watch from the shadows to see the fight unfold, it was time for her to act. The fight had made its way to the opposite side of the vault, leading the magician’s gaze away from her. Additionally, Two’s gestures seemed poised for completion as he extended a hand in the fighters’ direction, and a subtle hint of [Lightning] filled the air.
Rather than find out what variety of crispiness the man would render her friend, she threw her first spice ball. Her own [Fire] ball flew away toward the man’s head followed quickly by her.
Whether by chance, or an excellent sense of awareness mid-fight, the man leaned forward, the ball striking him on the side of his hood rather than his face. It would be eye-watering, but not crippling, she knew. Then, just as she’d expected, a bolt of lightning arced towards the fighters.
“No!” she yelled, but it snaked towards it target anyway, reaching the pair locked in battle in a flash.
Only it didn’t hit Dantes.
It hit the other agent.
Not questioning what happened, she ran towards the magician who’d since drawn a silver dagger and turned to face her through watering eyes.
Her rage bubbled up at the man who’d dare try to harm Dantes. Who’d tried to hurt her. Who had hurt others she’d called friend. She drew her dagger.
For the first time in years, her claws emerged. She leapt.
***
Already, sweat beaded his forehead. In his outrage, he’d barely considered that the tall man was just letting him tire himself out, and it was only when his breath came heavy that he managed to claw it down. Fights like this were about more than who could hit hardest or fastest.
Fortune seemed to favour him as the magic user in the back shot a lightning bolt, striking his own ally. Mitty’s interference, he suspected, but couldn’t avert his attention to confirm. The lightning seemed to have no damaging effect, save an involuntary twitch, but it bought him a breath that he badly needed.
He forced his eyes to avoid the prone form next to the rowboat in the center of the room and remain locked on his opponent. The slightest quirk of his lips scarred an otherwise emotionless landscape. Even the eyes seemed blank, like an empty vessel.
Or someone who knows no hope at freedom. Going through the motions of life without ever living.
He stepped forward, intending on a probing strike, and his opponent’s outstretched hilt twitched, the first such movement of the fight. Danger screamed in his ears. Trusting his instinct, he threw himself to the side, the air parting before his eyes in a cloud of grey crackling with lightning.
An uncomfortable wetness ran down his face and nose, but he ignored it and focused. He allowed everything else aside from his opponent to fall away, until it was only the two of them. The fight was all that existed. The world slowed, and he [Focused]. It didn’t seem wrong, though it should have. Every detail of the man appeared before him almost tangibly. It seemed almost like he could pick up a thought and examine it like one might examine a curio.
A fine trail of dark grey dust rose from the floor to wrap around the man on unseen currents. The trail was meandering, but it eventually led back to a thin stream falling from his sheath. What he’d presumed to be an empty sheath was filled with what looked like metal dust.
It crackled with lightning, reminding him of the spell that had been cast earlier, and he could not help but assume a connection.
The skin around the man’s eyes tightened in what appeared to be irritation at his ploy having failed. It had been a clever deception, and it worked on many layers. Giving ground while trailing the metal dust on the floor, all while buying time for his partner to empower it and tiring him out. He’d almost played right into the man’s hand.
He tamped down the surge irritation at himself. That could be examined later. For now, he focused. The man flicked his hand again, and a surge of lightning ran through the snaking cloud, surging forward like a whip.
He sidestepped, trying to bat the extending cloud with his staff, but finding it just flowed around the wood. For his effort, he was awarded another cut, this time on his thigh.
His footing felt precarious, and a quick glance revealed he’d stepped on the base of the gold coins.
The agent flicked his wrist again, the incoming strike foreshadowed by the crackle of lightning.
Grabbing a fistful of coins, he tossed them at the man’s face, trying to rush forward and close the distance, preparing to duck the blow. Even though it was longer, his staff was less suited to fighting at range, the movements too predictable and sluggish compared to the man’s weapon.
Unfortunately, the agent reached the same conclusion, because he aborted the strike and danced back even as Dantes rushed forward. Even a quick burst of [Strength] was matched by his adversary, leading to a game of cat and mouse where Dantes chased, and the agent fled, turning back for an occasional whiplash quick strike before returning to the retreat.
It seemed to be working, too. While he had a slight edge in terms of explosive speed, the agent was able to turn unnaturally fast, and the wounds on his legs were mounting quickly. Dantes quickly gave up trying to use the statue as cover to approach, finding the strange cloud could snake around to strike at him even without a line of sight, albeit slightly more slowly. Even so, when they both stopped at base of the golden mound, he could see the man was red and sweating, wincing slightly from the one lucky blow Dantes had managed when the man had almost slipped on some coins.
Now, his head was pounding from the strain of maintaining his [Focus] for so long, but dropping it would mean death. His legs burned despite the bone chilling cold that had begun to seep in. He forced himself to keep his staff at the ready, but his body felt anything but.
A golden sword lay on the floor among the coins between them, the suit of armor that had held it having been knocked over in his pursuit. He’d have to be careful not to trip over it when he approached. The gold scattered about on the ground had been a constant hazard, but it was also his only hope of closing the gap.
An idea floated through his stream of consciousness, and he snatched it out to examine it before it slipped away.
He grabbed another fistful of coins, but this time didn’t throw them and instead ran forward once again. Rather than crackling his whip forward as he’d previously done, the agent just fled, maintaining his distance.
They ran for a few breaths before the whip crackled forward again, the telltale arc of lightning screaming through the long cloud in a blink.
In response Dantes thrust his hand forward, launching the coins forward to meet the cloud.
Rather than blowing through as it had done with his staff, the lightning traveling through the cloud jumped to the coins, arcing between them in a brilliant net before dispersing into nothingness. There was a moment when the iron dust drooped harmlessly onto the floor before being quickly recalled to coil around his adversary once more.
He smiled in a wolflike grin, ignoring the searing pain from his face wound. He finally had a way to defend. Unfortunately, they were back near the center of the room away from the gold, and he had to throw himself to the side to narrowly avoid another strike. Rolling awkwardly, he landed at the base of the hoard, grasping at the first golden object he saw.
The sword was lighter than he’d thought it would, but was still heavier than his staff, and not nearly as long, its curved edge reaching out nearly as far as his arm. The hilt was adorned with a fiery red gem that pulsed like a heartbeat. Still, it didn’t seem beyond his ability to handle, and the caution a quick flourish of the blade elicited from his foe seemed to justify his choice.
A probing strike by the man was met with a counter slash from his new blade. Where a strike with his staff passed right through, the sword diverted the entire stream of dust, sending it limping back to its master. The lightning itself seemed reluctant to enter him, perhaps deterred by the leather hilt. Fighting spirit renewed, Dantes went on the hunt once more, hounding his foe’s every step.
After a few more attempted strikes, his enemy stopped attacking altogether, focusing solely on escape. He was nimbler, but without any means of attacking now, and flagging stamina, it was a losing battle. And so, after his leg got clipped scrambling up the mound of treasure, he took a different approach.
He held the empty hilt of his sword out as before, but rather than launch it forward in a flickering blow, the dust flowed into the sword. Crackling lightning pulsed along the forming blade as an edge emerged. After a moment, the agent held a pristine sword crackling dangerously with lightning.
He was filled with trepidation. While he was confident enough in his staff wielding abilities, he had no doubt he’d be outclassed in swordsmanship. His mind was on fire as he took in the man’s every movement. His opponent had the higher ground, but his footing would be unstable. He appeared exhausted, sweat pouring down his face, hair slicked back, and he was favouring his right leg slightly where a splotch of red was barely showing through the fabric.
Throwing caution to the wind, he cocked his arm back and hurled the sword with all his [Strength]. It spun end over end through the air towards the agent, who backed uphill slightly to dodge it. But the sword wasn’t aimed at the man. It was aimed at the mountain of coins beneath his feet. In a crescendo of clinking coins, the side of the hill collapsed, sweeping his foe’s feet out from under him as the sliding gold brought the man directly to him. Dantes pulled out his staff to meet him.
It was over in three strikes.
The first one knocked away his blade.
The second took him across the ribs, knocking the wind out of him, leaving him on the ground, helpless.
The third was aimed at his neck in a finishing blow. They’d hurt his friends. He was going to…
Kill him?
Hawk’s voice echoed in his ears.
“I would prefer not to slay a man who’s endured the same hardships as I.”
This man was a slave. He knew no hope of escape. He hadn’t yet begun to live his life. He saw it in his eyes. He pulled his final blow, instead knocking him over the top of the head.
There would be no more blood shed here.
Except whatever Mitty inflicted on that man in the corner.
***
He’d taken out the other Black Sands lookout to be safe, one he’d recognized as sixteen. She’d been his handler on his very first mission and was as kind as possible without being soft. Softness wasn’t tolerated among agents. Still, it was almost nice to see a familiar face. Not that she’d recognize him nameless as he was.
Still, the jungle was uncomfortably quiet and it was putting him on edge. There were no living beings. Just… He pulled his hood up and quickly flickered through the faces he knew. Dantes was in the temple, as was Captain Norton Crowley. Mitty was… missing as usual. Going through the agents he knew, all but two were on or around the island. He didn’t know all the agents of the Sultan, only about half; agents never met one another unless on a mission together. Some, he understood, were paired together frequently due to complimentary skill sets. Others like him were more often sent alone for scouting and information gathering.
He did feel bad for the two, the agents stationed in Windcrown. They were had more diplomatic and espionage skillsets, but that obviously hadn’t saved them from the Sultan’s wrath. They were currently deep underground in Esthar. Hopefully in one piece. It really wasn’t their fault they’d failed their task. Shadow was a slippery woman. Mitty, he corrected.
Lastly, he thought of him and his blood froze. He shivered, and the island shivered along with him.
From the jungle along the path to the entrance emerged the Sultan flanked by two unknown agents. They locked eyes for a sickening moment before he heard the words.
“You… I own you, don’t I?”