C27

The Black Blade

They kept to the edge of the main chamber, where the shadows grew the darkest, and kept watch of the exemplars working at the centre. A few crates and barrels made for good cover as they waited for an opportune moment.

‘Ve should have ended those three vhen ve had the chance.’ Belfry took his weapon in hand. A slender blade with an ornate basket hilt. It looked like something one of the lords would wield. Ludgar never bothered with that kind of stuff. Far too expensive and served no tactical advantage.

‘No need to worry,’ Sethel whispered close to him. ‘They’ll be arguing official canon for hours. We met some priests at their official visit to Vesterwys. They threatened to burn down everything. It went quite well.’

Ludgar looked up to see Kathiya and Ves’sa taking their positions, arrows notched to bows and awaiting a signal.

Their element of surprise may not be enough. They far outnumbered the mercs. They may be scholars, but their magic would prove challenging. As a bonus, they had themselves spread throughout the room. If only he could get them in one place.

‘Sethel, got any magic tricks?... Sethel?’ He turned and saw the mage rummaging around in some crates. He grabbed his arm. ‘Not the right time for looting.’

‘Oh, believe me, it is. Here.’ He handed Ludgar a potion. It glowed a deep crimson and felt warm to the touch. He began shaking it to watch the luminescent contents dance. Like a flash, Sethels hand stopped Ludgars. ‘Better not. Not here, anyway.’

‘... Okay?’ He shrugged and threw it over, which shattered near the central table.

The exemplars stopped dead.

‘What was that!’ a paragon screamed at them. They looked desperately at each other, hoping anyone else would answer first. They looked at the mess as it began to eat its way through the table and some oddities placed there. ‘Don’t just stand there looking gormless! Get some neutralizer!’ More exemplars ran forward, grabbing buckets of what they assumed was water.

‘Seems like a perfect time for a signal,’ whispered Caspar. And he was right.

The paragon started panicking as his artifacts succumbed to the heat, and screamed, ‘It’s melting everythi-’

An arrow from above and behind caught him before he could finish his sentence.

What happened next was kind of a blur. Ludgar jumped over, then so did everyone else. He followed out of instinct. There was screaming, glass crashing, blades clashing. There was certainly a lot of yelling.

He watched the panicking exemplars. He watched as they scrambled for their weapons, as some hid under tables and ran for the doors, and some that simply stood frozen, not knowing what to do.

They were not bandits. They were not thieves, nor gang members, or even a wandering inquisition. These were just scholars; recruits fresh out of their training and sent deep into foreign territory for their masters.

He hopped behind an upturned table and sat for cover. He just needed a moment to think. He looked to his right and found another exemplar sitting there. A young looking feline, no older than himself. He clutched at his mace; a cheap looking thing that looked like it had never been swung.

‘The door’s right there. I’m not gonna follow.’

He looked to the door. Then back to Caspar. Then to the door. Then checked behind himself. Then back to the door.

‘... Okay, bye.’ He bolted for the door.

He peeked his head out from behind the cover. Kathiya and Ves’sa continued their ranged assault with cold fury. Sethel was firing out what spells he could from a fair enough distance.

The jackal and hyena fought together, occasionally stopping to yell at one another for getting in their way.

The bull swatted the faithful away with great swipes of his oversized club, without so much as a peep or grunt.

Ludgar fought on with brutal efficiency.

The buffalo was... nowhere? Where was the buffalo? Did he die? Did he get lost? Is he just in the fray somewhere?

‘Belfry!’ Caspar yelled over the carnage.

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‘Vhat?’ Belfry yelled back as he was finishing off some prone exemplar.

‘Where’s the buffalo?’

Belfry took a moment to look around. ‘I thought he vas vith you!’

Another down. Then another. Scores of them fell to her arrows.

The exemplars fell easily. They were no fighters; they were scholars. It wasn’t even a challenge. They’d be better suited in a library than in a battle.

There was no use worrying about things like that. They had their mission and they had to carry it out. If they didn’t want to die, they shouldn’t be here in foreign territory.

She went for another. Two arrows hit one this time. Ves’sa grunted in discontent.

‘Waste of an arrow,’ she said.

It happened again. And again. It kept happening until Ves’sa was all out of arrows. Kathiya handed her more from her quiver. Ves’sa snatched them from her hand.

‘Stay out of my way.’ Ves’sa walked further down the balcony.

Kathiya fully expected her to say something like that, and it hit hard all the same. Maybe there were just some people you couldn’t get through to, no matter how hard you tried.

Ves’sa fired again from the balcony, taking out one exemplar after another. She went to take another arrow from her quiver when someone caught her by the neck. Huge meaty fingers wrapped around her throat and lifted her from the ground. She dropped her bow and clutched at the wrist, trying to gain what breath she could through her strained windpipe.

‘Try that arrow shit now, fucking bitch.’

That buffalo. She wanted to go for her blade, but bringing her hands from his fingers would crush her throat that much more.

She wouldn’t die here; not to him. She had so much left to do, so many things unresolved. She had regrets — the main one being not stabbing him back at the river.

She brought her talons up and dug them deep into the flesh of his arm. While he grunted in pain, it wasn’t enough to release her. She kept clawing at him, hoping to find some pressure point, artery, or nerve ending. Something that would loosen him, if just a little.

He did not give a shit.

Suddenly, he screamed. His fist opened, and she dropped to the ground. He clutched at his knee. There was an arrow shaft sticking from it. She pulled the dagger from the sheath on his chest. He looked up with only enough time to see the dagger come at him. It plunged into the side of his neck. He felt warm fluid pour from it and down his body. He tried to remove it in one last, desperate effort. The effort grew more and more futile as more and more blood spilled and he grew more and more tired, until he couldn’t hold himself up anymore, and he fell forward into his own blood.

Ves’sa stood there, looking over the dead merc, rubbing her neck and trying to regain her breath. Kathiya came out of the darkness, bow in hand, another arrow notched to it.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I told you to stay away,’ Ves’sa said, in a way that implied no condemnation, but as a matter of fact.

‘We’re a team, you know. We look after each other.’

Ves’sa took her bow from the ground and walked back to the balcony. She pulled back the bowstring, ready to fire, then stopped.

‘I… Thanks.’

That took Kathiya by surprise. She was fully expecting her to walk off and get back to business with no acknowledgement.

‘Uh… Happy to help,’ she said reflexively.

With the remnants scattered, they regrouped at the central altar. The other mercs ran off through a side passageway in search of treasure while Belfry sifted through what remained of the central workstations. A greatsword as black as midnight itself sat proud upon a display on the altar.

Behind, the murals depicted strange creatures wreathed in shadow, with armour like skin. It showed them shirking from the light and escaping to somewhere much deeper and darker. It was there where they discovered something; Ludgar could not tell what—the image was far too faded from age and neglect. Could it be this blade?

‘Any idea what it says?’

‘Hmm.’ Sethel mused over the incoherent and faded scribblings. ‘This word means passage, I think, or maybe it’s hole. Actually, it could mean anus in certain circumstances. And this word means darkness. No wait, just night. It could mean both, actually. Wait, no, we’re underground. How would they know? This word means deep, unless it means evacuate depending on the tone of the other words involved. Anyway, this is either an arcane research centre or an ostentatious privy.’

‘And the blade?’

‘I’m thirty percent sure it’s a toilet.’

‘Doesn’t smell like one,’ Caspar said, giving it an experimental sniff.

‘Vhat the hell are you all talking about?’ Befly said, striding up into their conversation.

‘We’re trying to figure out whether this sword is a toilet or not.’

Ludgar ran his finger along its edge, hoping that Sethel was wrong, which seemed certain. He may as well have been running it along a butter knife.

‘Completely dull. Could knock someone silly, but pretty useless as a weapon.’ He wanted to feel its weight. He slid his hand onto its hilt and lifted it from the stand as gentle as one would lift a baby or handle taxia powder.

Lighter than he expected, yet not completely weightless. He hoisted over his shoulder. It felt natural, like it should have been there all along. ‘Still, I think I’ll hold on to this. Could be valuable to some artifact collector somewhere.’

Strange. That pulling sensation seemed to dissipate, and he was beset by a powerful sensation of pure stillness. He wondered what it meant.

The sound of a door being dramatically kicked open came from behind and broke his concentration. It was the argumentative priest from before. He was covered in blood and on his own.

‘We have come to an agreement! The Choir of Phaos is official canon!’

Ves’sa took her bow and shot him in the head.

‘That reminds me, it’s about time we got going before they regain their courage and try another attack,’ said Ludgar. ‘Take a look round, see what you can get. I’ll go get the other three mercs.’

‘You going to be okay on your own?’ said Kathiya.

‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

The truth was he wasn’t really sure. He ran down through an adjacent hall, the same which that woman left through. He felt excited, and didn’t know why. It was a lot like that feeling you get before a storm begins; where you feel like something big is about to happen.

Whatever it was, it was probably going to be a whole lot of fun.