Deeping Lore - 3. Chapter 3 - Betrayal

Ten men and two women were pre-selected by Markain Kragar to comprise the assassination squad whose target was the wizard Korga, an individual on which there seemed to be a shocking lack of information. Kragar knew that the wizard had been in Zanda for several days as a guest of the Dreaded Irtemara. He also knew that Korga was exceptionally powerful, although what he was capable of doing, was a matter of some debate. Kian, Dolmani, and Renfro (just simply referred to as Ren by many of the thieves) comprised three of the twelve. The other nine had been hand-selected for their skills, knowledge, and aptitude with little to no consideration given to anything else.

Akagi was the first of the ten men that were selected. He was a short oriental monk with a shaved head and piercing violet eyes. Kian thought that Akagi's age could lie anywhere between 30 and 60; he wore banded mail made from dragonhide strips and a jade necklace that he said was a gift from the Opawang. His shoes were bound in black cloth, held on by a single scarlet cord that was strung in the gap to the side of his big toe on both feet. Akagi was supposedly a master of the butterfly sword; he carried them in pairs, concealed in long sleeves when he anticipated a fight. Kian had defeated men that had sworn they were masters of the butterfly sword. Nevertheless, he felt that the weapon had merit for offensive and defensive versatility. That, and he was curious to see how Akagi handled himself in tight quarters.

Althir was a Nykoran and a disgraced Timeron Knight. Nykorans were humanoid in stature only; their entire body was sheathed in tough scales that varied in color from turquoise to brown. Althir had large yellow eyes with black vertical slits for pupils. His humanoid nose was pierced through with a single bone, a second piercing, a solid gold ring, was threaded through the skin of the left nostril only. His hair was worn in long black dreadlocks, interwoven with ivory skulls that clacked when he shook his head causing them to smack together; his teeth were bone white and as sharp as nails. Nykorans had a tail; Althir's was tipped with a metal spike dipped in caasak poison, distilled from the fumes of burned corobidian shavings.

Althir wore Timeron Knight corobidian armor and had strapped to his back the razor cloak that served as his main weapon. The tip of the cloak was sewn with a razorblade, weighted and balanced with bits of lead so that it could be manipulated with the ease of a large hand fan. He could wield the cloak one-handed. With his main hand, he swung a short sword with an edge finer than an obsidian scalpel.

Althir and Kian hated each other instantly. Nykorans murdered all of the Atlanteans hundreds of years ago and until Althir laid eyes upon Kian, he'd believed their race extinct. Truthfully, Kian had no idea if there were other Atlanteans in the world. If there were, he'd never seen them.

Kirhasa was the wizard in the group, but by no means was she even on the same plane of might as that wielded by Korga (the man whom they were hired to kill). Sulasian by descent, she bore the smooth dark coffee colored skin of her people. She dressed in night blue robes that complemented her glittering sapphire eyes. She darkened the skin above her lids with kohl, and her blond hair was woven in complex patterns and hundreds of exotic braids that descended from her head to the middle of her back. She stood proud and straight, wore soft kid leather boots and carried a black steel spear in one hand, adorned in the middle with a stone the size of a child's heart that swirled with the colors of the world as it must appear from space.

In Kian's experience, all Sulasians were arrogant and looked down on those that did not practice the craft in one form or another. Although she was instantly more likeable than Dolmani, Kian was wary of her mostly due to suspicious looks that she aimed his way, whenever he spoke. He felt that Kirhasa was studying him. For a man that had spent the majority of his life trying to be invisible, it was unwelcome attention.

Ashir the Gifted, as he called himself, was an arrogant ass. Kian knew he was a Daaran and here in Zanda, this meant he was a long way from home. He talked about himself in the third person, as if doing so would somehow add to the legend he perceived everyone in the world already knew with regard to his exploits. He was a womanizer and a pirate. He wore boiled leather armor, dyed black, a worn black felt hat, and a linen shirt with long, heavy cuffs. He fancied himself an expert with the rapier and a jack-of-all trades.

Daarans in general hailed from the wind-swept plains to the west of the great Icewall Mountains on the continent of Garoahar, one of the largest ranges in the world. The fact that he'd crossed the vast expanse of the Morikan Ocean lent him some credence to a claim that he was a feared pirate on the waters. However, Kian had his doubts. Most Daarans were terrified of water and preferred to ride the horses in the patrol of their widespread kingdom. Despite the fact that Daar by itself occupied thousands of leagues, their people had only one official city. The rest of the Daarans continuously moved their cities from spot to spot, staying only a season and then packing up when the hunting grew thin.

Calisto Blackmore it turned out was picked by Dolmani. Here was a warrior and assassin that claimed he was the most famous in the world. Kian had never heard of him; but that didn't stop him from claiming proudly that he had killed at least three-hundred men. Calisto was almost seven feet tall, a rapist, and possessed a number of sexual perversions including necrophilia. He had many traits that Kian despised and if given a choice, he wouldn't have taken him. Kian couldn't prove it, but Calisto had the scent on him of one that follows Chagidiel, the God of Perversion, and the man's insistence on eating raw meat made Kian sick to his stomach, especially since he believed the meat he consumed was human.

Calisto unabashedly spoke of his sexual exploits, both male and female; Kian suspected that nearly all of them had been tallied without his partner's consent. He also believed that a good many of his so called kills might have been former partners he murdered after he was finished with them. He truthfully seemed too clumsy and large to be any good at his claimed expertise. However, there was a part of Kian that didn't dismiss him outright because it frightened him.

Calisto was Noremarian and he shared many of their racial characteristics. Noremarians lived on a continent located at the northernmost reaches of the world. Their cities were built deep within tall mountain ranges steeped with snow and overflowing with glacial ice. Calisto had pale skin and bright red hair over nearly every inch of his body. He wore filthy metal armor that swarmed with flies because he'd decorated it with entrails from those that he'd murdered and never washed off. The rain was the only cleansing afforded to Calisto who believed that to bathe would weaken his power over his prey. Kian merely thought that his stench stunned the men he killed long enough for him to sink his hooked knife into their bellies.

Hargrim was a dark-skinned Merenzaran. The fact that he was even included in the group told Kian that Kragar had not thought things through at all when it came to social interactions. Merenzar was a jungle kingdom where polygamy was the norm and many times, men sought out wives who had barely had their first blood. This meant that they were sometimes twelve or thirteen or maybe, even younger. He found the whole Merenzaran culture repulsive but did his best to remain non-judgmental at least as far as his outward visage was concerned (basically, Kian stayed quiet on matters of politics and religion that were not his own). However, Hargrim sought out the company of young girls, watched them with more than passing interest, and it disgusted Kian.

Hargrim was a gladiator pit fighter and was immensely strong. Both Kian and Hargrim possessed bodies that rippled with muscle, however, Hargrim had mass. Whereas Kian weighed in the neighborhood of 170-pounds sopping wet out of a ditch, Hargrim weighed closer to 400. His arms were as wide as Kian's waist, his shoulders so broad, Kian thought him half-ogre. He fought with a cadel, a huge axe that took most men two hands to even wield. Hargrim managed it with one, using a shield in his off-hand. His armor was unremarkable plates of metal that had been attached to leather skins. Unremarkable, that is, save for his codpiece which was made from an ornate metal pot that dangled jewels strung on bits of human hair. The size of it seemed obscene and either he was possessed of a colossal phallus, or, he purposefully wore it to draw attention to himself which hinted at underlying insecurities.

Chisato was a lithe elven girl with silver skin and blue eyes. Her hair was like spun gold that she kept wrapped in an ornate bun. When Kian met her, he suspected that she was familiar with the cant, the unspoken language that all rogues know the world around. She responded when he asked her if she was a shadow walker; she said yes.

Shadow walkers were a rare breed of the silverskins that had the power to disappear completely within subtle darkness so that nothing at all could be discerned of them without the use of magic. Kian himself was excellent at hiding, at using the play of objects to obscure vision. However; if someone were staring at him dead on, he simply couldn't melt away in a shadow. Chisato, on the other hand, could. She also took an instant liking to Kian; she'd heard of him and respected his accomplishments. She fought with a silver bow and arrow, wore chainmail so fine that Kian mistook it for cloth, and adorned her hair with a brocade of silver leaves.

The eleventh was Tenander, a Xirasian youth who had the ability to shapechange into a lion. Even in human form, Tenander had golden cat-like quality to his eyes and his body was covered in a thick fur the color of a tawny lion's coat. On each of his fingers grew nails at least four inches long and he wore no shoes on his feet. Instead, the soles of his feet were tough as thick leather and were equipped with vestigial claws that he could use to give him traction on slippery surfaces.

Last of the dozen was Shaldar, a man who claimed to be a Korimarian Prince. Korimar was an island kingdom off the coast of the Hook of Merenzar. It was a shipping fleet and a naval power respected on both sides of the Golden Ocean. Kian had never traveled to Korimar but he knew the ruling house and the last time he checked, their name was Quarinos. The matron of House Korimar at the time was Velanna Sorcel Quarinos, a half-elven woman who was graceful, beautiful, and fair-skinned.

Shaldar on the other hand, was a black man.

These two things didn't seem to go together in his mind. So it was difficult for Kian to believe that Shaldar was in actuality a prince of this particular House like he claimed. Sure, it was possible. However, there were other things that raised doubt in Kian's mind. Shaldar's hands were calloused which meant he did a lot of manual labor. Additionally, he possessed a heavily muscled-build. When he questioned Shaldar about his adventures, the "prince" claimed he was a privateer that made his way in the world selling his body for work, whether it be as a weekend warrior or as a lover for lonely women. Usually, it was the latter, as Shaldar fancied himself the cat's meow when it came to fair maidens.

Nevertheless, it was his boasting to have some skill with a scimitar which brought him to Kian's attention in the first place. It was difficult to imagine Kian's disappointment, when he managed to disarm the prince with a baker's rolling pin that he grabbed from a shelf. Not thinking twice, Kian dismissed Shaldar as an oaf. That was when Markain Kragar intervened on the Korimarian's behalf. He insisted that Shaldar come with them with the words, "You can always use another sword," despite Kian's vehement objections, of which the most vocal happened to be, "even if that other ‘sword' just happens to be terrible?"

His complaint, however, fell upon deaf ears.

Kian wondered what he had done to displease the Gods of Fate so to be saddled with such incompetence.

Kian observed the two carts squeak their way up the narrow avenue, wooden wheels rolling awkwardly on uneven stones; the only light emanated from covered lampposts casting forth an amber glow behind dirty panes of glass. Tenander and Chisato studied Kian (both held him in high regard) and thought that as he crouched on the edge of the building, peering down upon their target, that he had the posture of a predatory cat at high hunt. Directly across from him, on the roof of a shop that sold brass lamps were Ren, Akagi, and Shaldar. Two streets up, he got a signal from Althir, Kirhasa , and Ashir that they were in place in the alleyway.

No signal came from Hargrim, Calisto, and Dolmani.

Either they were not in place, or they'd silently refused to comply with his request to signal him when they were ready. He touched the tongue pad on the inside of his helmet and zoomed in on the passage that they were supposed to be occupying. He saw two or three heat signatures in his "heads up display" which told him that they were in place. "Asshats," he muttered to himself. "You could at least have the common courtesy to let me know you're ready."

As he'd expected, the narrow street below him was vacant. The banging of drums and trumpets could be heard three streets over where the entire population of the city was gathering for the Feast of the Lad. By now, the terrified boy the crowd had ushered forth as a sacrifice would be succumbing to the poisonous fumes issued by the holy thurible. By the time he closed his eyes, his fingers and toes would already be gnawed upon by festival goers who believed that holy blessings would be incurred upon them by swallowing the flesh of an innocent child.

The thought of it made Kian so angry, he swore to himself that someday, he'd kill every last one of them.

The eight armed men escorting the two supply wagons walked four to a side taking up the full width of the road that wended its way through buildings like a river through a steep canyon. Their huge metal shod feet raised a din on the cobblestone that grew all the louder because of the lack of traffic and an echo from the brick and plaster walls of the shops on either side.

He recognized these men immediately for what they were.

Nykoran mercenaries.

They were well equipped, with longswords at the ready and swathed in full plate armor made from blackened steel and adorned with sharp spikes. Chains that hung from battered metal spaulders ended in gruesome fist-sized shrunken heads like ornaments put about the tree to celebrate Yule. To his horror, each of them had about their shoulders a fine leather cloak made from the skin of an Atlantean-one of Kian's people, of which, to his knowledge he was the last. Many of these were hundreds of years old, kept by noble families, and handed down from father to son as an heirloom. Nykorans prized things that were made using Atlantean leather. Now that it was no longer available, such items had a priceless value to them.

None of that mattered to Kian; when he found them, he made sure to destroy the terrible objects. They were dark reminders that his race was hunted to extinction, that his people were tortured, enslaved, and sometimes skinned for their hide.

It was abominable.

As trying as it was, he brought his focus back to the two targets he'd selected for death. It was always the same with him; he referred to them as targets because it made the killing that much easier if he admitted to himself that no one cared for them. However, how could he know for sure? Maybe at home there were small children that waited for their father to bring them food, to supply them with the money to survive. Maybe there was a wife that waited hoping and praying that her husband whom she loved would return home safely. These kinds of thoughts troubled Kian because he knew what it was like to love someone; he wasn't a monster. He killed because he had to; it was his job and he happened to be pretty damned good at it. Centuries ago, his own master had taught him never to sympathize with a target, never get to know them. If you do, they will steal your soul.

It was good advice.

Kian was about to move for his target when Hargrim and Calisto emerged from their hiding place, weapons raised, and attacked.

"Tethyr's teeth," Kian hissed.

Calisto charged in and the first Nykoran merc on the left engaged him, interrupted the downward swing of the curved blade from the seven-foot tall Noremarian with his own sword, and kicked him in the knee.

Calisto collapsed like a sack of turnips in the street.

His comrade in arms, Hargrim, bull-rushed the weaponless driver of all people, cut him in half with the enormous cadel, and spattered blood over the donkey while the huge axe clove deep into the wagon, knocking wooden planks loose and showering the road with splinters and a cloud of flour.

It was inefficient and sloppy and it set Kian's teeth on edge.

Two more Nykorans joined in as Hargrim wrenched the cadel out of the wagon, they slashed him about the midsection, his armor deflected most of the blows but he bellowed out in pain. From the alleyway, Dolmani paralyzed one of them with a spell, Calisto cackling, leapt up from the ground and rather than engage one of the dangerous warriors, he attacked the helpless one. He rammed his fingers into the paralyzed warrior's eyeballs and pushed him down onto the wet rocks.

Kian flickered, appeared behind a Nykoran, severed his head and caught it in one hand. The body stood upright for a moment, spraying blood. Because it was now dead, he could teleport with it; he did so and dropped the head and body off the edge of the Well of Zanda. Then he blinked back, slipped his cibrian wrist blade through the skull of another Nykoran. The body twitched spasmodically and died. In the same instant, Kian shook Bloodbane which formed itself into a noose and he looped it around the throat of a third Nykoran. He gave the garotte a strong tug and the cibrian wire cut the man's jugular vein. A fourth Nykoran charged Kian's midsection with his blade. Kian flickered, appeared at his back, wrapped his legs around the mercenaries neck and fell, twisting with his waist as hard as he could. He felt the man's cervical column shatter between his thighs and he lay still, drowning in his own blood. Chisato felled one Nykoran with an arrow clean through the right eye, Ashir and Renfro killed another. Akagi slew the last one, parrying with his butterfly swords and then sliced open the man's guts.

Kian thought it was over and realized that Calisto was still squeezing the head of the paralyzed Nykoran. The warrior was still alive; he'd plucked out his eyes and was forcing his thumbs into the brain cavity, cackling gleefully as blood squirted upward. Kian felt sick just watching him, turned his head, and got to his feet.

Shaldar walked up and thrust his scimitar into the Nykoran to put him out of his misery.

Kian popped the visor to his helmet while the others donned the Atlantean-skinned cloaks. "That was awful. How are we supposed to disguise the fact that you nearly wrecked the first wagon? And there's blood all over the seat, not to mention the donkey." Behind an infuriated Kian, Dolmani cast a spell over one of the corpses and forced it to reveal the password needed for safe entrance into the service gate of the Blades Acuarum.

Hargrim spat on the ground, "Eh, when you didn't attack, I thought you might be pissing your pants in fear, little boy." He paused, Shaldar giggled. Kian looked at the "prince" over the bridge of his narrow nose but didn't say a word. "At least this way, you could see how real warriors and not scrawny men handle a fight," Hargrim finished.

"I'm a prince," Shaldar said in a voice that he made purposefully deep so that his words would have gravity on the conversation. "You should've waited ‘til I went."

"I wanted it quiet. This was absolutely dreadful." Kian saw Hargrim was bleeding and realized the man might be in pain. "Do you need some bandages?"

"No. The wound isn't deep and I'm not squeamish when it comes to blood. Save the bandages for when you get cut, skinny boy," Hargrim uttered, shouldering his cadel.

Kian glared at him. "Suit yourself. If you'd let me go first, you'd not have been hurt at all."

Kirhasa handed him a cloak.

"I'm not wearing that," Kian uttered.

She nodded with understanding and said, "Perhaps the less damaged cart can go first. Maybe the guards at the gate will not be as attentive because of the festival, and overlook the mess."

"Maybe," Kian said, rubbing his chin. "I think that's a good idea, Kirhasa."

She smiled at him, eyes twinkling.

Tenander hopped up in the driver's seat of the second cart and guided it past the first; it was a tight squeeze. Kian offered the cloak that he refused to use as a seat cover to hide the blood where the driver had been cut in half by Hargrim's powerful swing.

"Alright, when we get inside, leave the Cataclysm Slayers to me. Is that understood?"

"What are we to fight, then?" Calisto questioned. Kian glanced over at the towering Noremarian and saw that he was staring at him, moving his eyes up and down his body. "You saw how quickly we dispatched the men here," Calisto continued. "Are we to stand around bored and watch you die?" This time Hargrim joined Shaldar in laughing.

"Trust me," Kian answered. "The way you guys dealt with this didn't seem all that impressive. I think you'll have more than enough to keep you busy." Calisto snorted, but he didn't take his eyes off of Kian. It almost looked like he was staring at his crotch. "What're you looking at?"

Calisto smiled; the teeth in his mouth appeared yellow, bloody, and half-rotten. Now the ever-present halitosis he smelt became painfully clear. Calisto's fingers were still covered in Nykoran blood and he popped them one at a time between his thick lips, sucking them clean. He never even bothered to give Kian an answer, but continued to stare at him with an unwholesome eye.

The young, blond teenager closed his visor nervously. "Your grace, did you retrieve the passphrase?"

"I did," Dolmani said, pulling himself to his feet. He wiped his hands on his robes and slid the cloak made from Atlantean skins around his shoulders. "I'll give it at the gate when we arrive there." He walked over to the cart and joined Tenander on the front bench. The tawny haired youth regarded Kian with sincere sympathy.

"I will help you to destroy the garments once we no longer need them," Tenander said to him.

"Thank you," Kian answered, voice low and gravelly.

"Destroy them?" Dolmani querried, overhearing Kian's words. "I think not. These are worth a fortune in markets around the world." Kian ignored Dolmani's words even though he knew that the priest's remark was essentially true. Instead, Kian tipped over a barrel of ale into the middle of the street and watched the contents spill out over the stones. He stood there in silence, arms folded on his chest, tapping his armored toes on the ground while it emptied.

Calisto took up a post alongside the wagon. "Aye, these cloaks are renowned the world over for their suppleness and their ability to hold tightly onto whatever color is applied to them. I've heard that Atlantean skin made the best leather, and the most prized of all came from male teenagers who were renowned for the smooth unblemished nature of their fair flesh." He moved a hand away from his chin; spread his fingers, in a gesture meant to add meaning to his words. It showed that he truly lamented the days when such items could be readily attained by just murdering a few Atlantean men.

Kian felt cold in his soul; a knot built between his scapula.

"Your words sound fascinating," Shaldar said, again his voice so deep it was obviously forced. "I love leather, especially if it's made for a prince."

Calisto grinned, watching Kian who stood expressionless behind a black visor, seemingly all his attention focused on the ale barrel. "It's said that the young men produced a chemical in their sweat that heightened taste and pleasure; that it produced no foul odor, and that the most potent came from their naked sweaty feet. Most prized of all was their semen. The boys reputedly were not human in the way they produced it. Their semen was white as snow and warm like liquid fire. The consistency of it was smooth and the taste indescribable to the point that it was considered an aphrodisiac. Nykoran women who found themselves barren would eat the testicles of an Atlantean youth for fertility. But it didn't end there; the men in the climax of their lovemaking would, with every thrust, produce a measure of ejaculate. Not all at once or in a few spurts like most humans do. It is believed that the ejaculate of Atlantean men emerged from the glans like a cow's teet, without end and without the singular inexorable shudder of climax. Rather, it was a continuous pleasure that could last until their very strength gave out to continue. Their orgasm is said to be the longest in all the world and that the coitus would need to be carefully controlled so that the balls didn't eject blood from being over-milked. Legends say that women sometimes fucked their Atlantean men to death, caught in the throes of love-making, and bled them out." He laughed.

"I don't see what's funny," Chisato said. "That sounds like an awful end to something that could be potentially extremely beautiful, and they're extinct anyway."

"It is funny," Calisto retorted. "A man allowing a coose to kill him. Heh."

"You don't think you could be bested by a woman?" Chisato asked him, leveling her bow and notching an arrow, ready to let it fly with a pluck from her strong arms.

"If you think I'm afraid of that twig you're using then you're sadly mistaken."

Ren, standing next to Kian, wiggled his fingers at him using the secret language. "Is what he said true? About Atlantean men, I mean?"

Kian nodded quietly, one foot on the barrel which he was rolling to get all the contents to come out.

"You forget," Kirhasa interrupted, her voice a lilting soprano, "The reason the Atlantean men died is because it is also rumored that they were the greatest lovers, able to please anyone they were with beyond mortal sensation. In the act of lovemaking, they are able to join their soul with your own and make love to it simultaneously. This, I suppose in contrast to Noremarians having the reputation of the worst lovers in the world, and also that their men have the smallest penises."

Calisto glared at her. "I've eaten Sulasians for less than what you've said to my face just now. Perhaps you'd care to inspect the size of my manhood with your face, bitch."

"And I've melted Noremarian brains from between their ears with a single spell. Do you want to continue comparing battle scars?"

"You don't scare me." He lifted his curved blade. "The entrails of a woman hang just as easily from my weapon as a man's."

"Enough!" Dolmani declared. "Let's get a move on. Akagi, Calisto, Kirhasa, and Ashir on the left."

"-Ashir the Gifted, sire," he stated, with a broad genuflection.

"-Whatever. You're on the left. The rest of you, on the right. Tenander with me up front, Hunter will hide in the barrel. Shaldar, you drive the second cart."

"I'm not a driver, I'm a prince. I should be in front to greet the gatekeeper."

"I'll do that; you do as you're told."

Shaldar's eyes narrowed and he glowered upward at the priest, his eyes filled with anger.

"What?" Dolmani questioned.

"Remember who you're speaking with," Shaldar said.

"I think not. Do as you're told or I'll kill you."

Shaldar flexed his muscles under his armor; popped his neck bones. His black skin rippled with veins and appeared striated with muscle tissue just beneath the surface. The skin around the handle of his scimitar flared along the knuckles.

He swung the blade at Dolmani and it deflected harmlessly off of an invisible shield he had around his person.

"Hunter, take care of Shaldar, will you?"

Kian flickered and stood atop the rail of the wagon. Despite the fragile nature of the wooden timbers composing the cart, they didn't even so much as creak under his light weight. Shaldar swung at Kian's feet who reacted with blinding speed. While Shaldar was still in mid-swing, Kian lifted his right leg and pistoned down with the sole of his boot so quickly, it caught Shaldar's sword on the flat side, facing up and slammed it into one of the wooden posts supporting the rail. It shook the wagon but didn't dislodge Kian. He kicked Shaldar in the head and hopped down. Shaldar staggered back, his hands leapt to his face where blood was gushing from his nose.

"You broke my nose," he said. "You son-of-a-bitch!" Shaldar was seething mad.

He swung at Kian who took a step back to avoid the blow. He kicked at him and Kian hopped aside; Shaldar's foot hit the wagon wheel with such force Kian heard the bone crack; blood erupted from his skin in a compound fracture. "The Prince" dropped down on one knee.

"I'm no match for your demon!" he called out to Dolmani. "Call him off."

"Kian, enough," Dolmani waved.

Still masked in his visor, he folded his arms.

"That's just great," Chisato said, looking at the bleeding Shaldar. "We can't take him with us."

"I can go along," Shaldar grimaced. "I've had worse." He tried to struggle to his feet and collapsed again, weeping.

She went to him; Ren stopped her. "I'll stay behind and get him back to the guild. He needs medical attention and you guys are running out of time."

Chisato nodded at him.

"So just like that, we're down two already. What a great plan," Dolmani said, looking at Kian.

He popped the visor. "I wouldn't have brought him. He's a complete oaf, a liar, and a buffoon." While he was distracted, Shaldar spit on Kian's face which was temporarily exposed. Kian wiped it off his cheek just below the left eye, and glared at him.

"I could kill you, you know," Kian said.

"I'd like to see you try," Shaldar taunted from the level of the street. Ren helped him to his feet. "Maybe if I wasn't hobbled, you'd stand a chance."

"Are you that dense? I'm the one that hobbled you."

He laughed. "You didn't strike me except in the nose. I did this to myself, because I wasn't careful and you used demon magic."

"I stepped aside because you're as slow as a fat man at the bottom of a flight of stairs."

"-Demon magic," Shaldar reaffirmed, albeit with a pained face. "Next time we meet, I'll have my own. You'll know what it means to fuck with a prince."

Kian sighed, clearly exasperated; closed his visor to the helmet. He took a moment to shake Ren's hand and then walked over, easily picked up the large empty ale barrel from the street, and put it carefully into Dolmani's wagon. Then, he climbed inside, propped the lid open slightly with a small splinter of wood so that he could see out at his surroundings and make his move when needed.

With everything in place, Dolmani bid Ren and Shaldar goodbye, and the noticeably smaller group of ten slowly started their way up the street. Behind them, Ren moved the dead into a nearby alley and cleaned up the evidence as best as he could before setting out with the complaining prince leaning heavily across his small shoulders.

Inside the barrel, Kian crouched waiting and fuming behind his helmet. He simply wasn't used to this level of unprofessionalism and it reaffirmed to him why he preferred to go-it alone, even on the most difficult of missions. Now he was being burdened by men and women who were not prepared to infiltrate the Librarium Apocalypto.

Was he being tested? Was this all a joke and he was the butt of it and no one had the courtesy to let him know? His mind raced with conspiracy theories as Dolmani guided the donkey in the direction of the Blades Acuuarum.

After 25-minutes, his legs were beginning to cramp. It was a good thing that they were getting near the end of their journey.

Kian peeked ahead; saw the gate draw slowly into view. The service entrance was comprised of the same enormous blocks of stone that were visible in the towering bulwarks. It was just wide enough to admit one horse-drawn cart; there was a system of two portcullises that could not be raised and lowered at the same time. Dolmani tugged on the reins; the donkey slowed to a stop before the first of these.

On the left side of the wall was a triangular face made of burnished steel. It had a long nose, black horizontal slits for eyes, thick steel lips and a smooth countenance. Its ears were formed into long points; a mane of leaves made from polished steel fell down about the sides of the face. They wrapped around two antlers of pure black marble that protruded from the forehead of this thing. It was mounted on a plaque four feet in diameter. As Kian stared out at it through the tiny crack in the barrel's lid, he witnessed the strange visage magically animate.

"Speak the passphrase and enter."

"Potestatem obscuri lateris nescis," Dolmani answered.

Kian recognized the language that the priest used for it was the one employed by spellcasters in their craft. He wished he understood the words but even without this knowledge, he could appreciate the aesthetic beauty provided in their proper utterance. However, he wasn't about to ask Dolmani what they meant; it would only give him another opportunity in which he could call him stupid.

Kian tapped his toes on the bottom of the crate to entertain himself while waiting. Finally, the first portcullis started to open. He heard the winding of the gears and the slow inexorable weight of the pullies that hoisted the heavy gate inch by inch into the roof above the entrance. When it was fully raised, Dolmani guided the cart into the narrow confines directly under the gatehouse and stopped at the second portcullis. Behind them, the first one closed. Then, slowly, the second one rose into the ceiling imitating the methodical movement of the first. Dolmani urged the donkey forward into the clearing on the far side. Then he waited for the second cart to make its way through the gate.

Kian took a quick look around.

He spotted a pie-bald Sulasian.

Acne covered the man's face and he was hunched over giving him an uneven gait due to a curved spine. One arm was obviously longer than the other; he wore a chainmail vest, a black velvet cloak, and carried a crossbow. Kian stared at the loaded bolt; saw that the tip of it was coated in a green ichor. As he was watching the sentry, Kian saw the deformed man's shadow leap up and animate; it moved of its own accord, leaned over a barrel of foodstuffs and then slid to one side of the cart to inspect the donkey.

"Fucking shadowcasters," Kian whispered to himself.

They needed to call this off; it wasn't going to work, he thought.

But the others were already through the second portcullis. Nerves made him sweat on the inside of his armor, it ran in rivulets down his skin on the inside of the killsuit and pooled in his toes where it leaked out through the creases.

Kian heard a slithering noise, rotated his neck as far as he could, and saw the first of the towering Cataclysm Slayers of Zanda appear at the top of the steps in the clearing. Made completely of animated and fluid black stone, the constructs moved on a serpentine tail that ground upon the concrete with the sound of sandpaper. The serpent tail formed into the torso of a woman at the waist, flowed upward into pointed obsidian breasts; at each shoulder sprouted three arms and the hands at the end of those appendages were four fingered claws.

Kian grasped the handle of his sword and quantum sidestepped from out of the barrel.

He instantly appeared in the air exactly as he'd intended, ten feet above the Cataclysm Slayer and drew his sword. Because of his acute training in the art of assassination, he immediately spotted the other two while he was falling. One was on the stairs leading upward to the gatehouse; the other was standing guard next to a large iron door pitted with rust that led into the bowels of the Blades Acuuarum citadel.

Bloodbane, now free in his hand, was animated; hungry for his blood. The corobidian metal veins unwound from the handle, straightened themselves like headless snakes, and punctured the flesh of his wrist to join with living tissue within his sword arm.

Kian swung Bloodbane through the center of the Cataclysm Slayer; he missed and alighted upon the balls of his athletic feet with catlike dexterity. In front of him, the Cataclysm Slayer of Zanda rose up on its tail; the whole of it shimmered in the light with a confusing cascade of multiple images that seemed to overlay each other. Kian recognized the effect as originating from a bloodline power called Zone of Might.

Scions of the Gods were sometimes invested with strange powers attributed to the blood of these powerful beings. Sometimes, these powers manifested themselves as simple things, a silvering of the pupils, or in Kian's case, having preternatural alertness which applied itself exceptionally well to his trade. At other times, these powers were gross affronts to nature; they were great destructive abilities that defied known laws of the universe. Zone of Might was an example of a bloodline gift of this magnitude.

And, it was why Kian had missed.

The huge animated statue twisted on its torso and swung at him with all six arms. Kian moved in, parried three of the arms which struck with horrific strength. However, despite his diminutive size and svelte teenage frame, Kian was one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in the world. He used his own left arm and left leg to parry and channel the energy of the strike harmlessly through his body. Then, he tumbled out of reach from the right arms. The Cataclysm Slayer swung its tail at him, he leapt over it. Behind him, he saw Hargrim charge up the stairs, swinging his cadel and brandishing his shield.

"No!" Kian yelled. "Attack the Shadowcasters! You can't beat these."

Hargrim ignored him and slammed the huge blade into the head of the Cataclysm Slayer. Of course, he missed due to Zone of Might. Instead his huge axe continued on its course in a full arc; Kian ducked just in time to avoid it taking off his head. There was a whoosh sound as it went right above his helmet, and the young blond boy cursed Hargrim out behind his helmet.

The Cataclysm Slayer opened its mouth and hissed. A cone of petrification swept over Kian. Dust, pollen, and bits of chaff floating in the air turned to stone and clattered noisily to the concrete upon which he stood. However, the wave of petrification washed over the Atlantean assassin, merely causing his image to appear distorted, as if he stood within superheated air that (because of its density) refracted and bent light. Kian protectively shielded his head with his arm, more out of reflex than anything else, because he was simply immune to this kind of magic.

Hargrim took the opportunity to swing again; he refused to listen to the boy. His blade found its mark and bounced harmlessly away from the skin of the construct. The backlash was so profound, that the force from the blow split the oak handle of the weapon and stung Hargrim's huge hands.

"Rakhir's Ruin!" the Merenzaran swore in surprise.

The Cataclysm Slayer backhanded Hargrim with its three right claws; he too tried to parry them as Kian had done. However, the assassin had a lifetime of practice. Kian knew how to shield his lithe body in just the right way. He caught blows from men much stronger than himself all the time. He knew how to roll with them, how to give in where he needed to, and how to channel the force through to the other side of his body so that the waves going through him, didn't damage his organs.

Hargrim had no such training.

He was a warrior used to being the attacker and his whole body tensed, relying upon his muscles and his thick bones to absorb the power of the strike. It wasn't enough, and with one horrific blow, the Cataclysm Slayer broke Hargrim's arm in five places through the shield, shattered his hip bone, and turned the bones of his raised leg into a jigsaw puzzle beneath his armor and flesh.

The shield itself was reduced to dust.

The warrior cried out and would have collapsed, but there wasn't time. In the next instant, he was turned to stone, and with its three other fists, the Cataclysm Slayer shattered Hargrim into a million pieces and scattered them over the courtyard.

That was when Kian struck.

He drove Bloodbane through the middle of the Cataclysm Slayer, cut it in half, and swung so quickly that he lopped off three of its arms before the two central pieces of its torso had the opportunity to fully separate. The magic that animated the construct failed.

Chisato screamed.

Kian's eyes flew to the silverskinned elf. A Sulasian Shadowcaster made a gesture with his left hand; a black candle appeared floating in the air, the flame on the end of the wick emanated pure darkness instead of light. This same Shadowcaster clenched his left fist and Tenander was picked up off the ground, surrounded in thick bands of pure shadow which stretched to swallow him whole until a black outline was all that remained where the Xirasian had previously been. With his right hand, the Shadowcaster lowered the crossbow, took aim with the poisoned bolt, and shot Chisato.

Kian sidestepped with a flicker and caught the bolt out of the air just short of the elf's neck. Next, he snapped it with his fingers and threw it on the ground.

Chisato notched an arrow, shot two of them in succession at the same Shadowcaster, both of them struck in the chest. He unclenched his fist, releasing Tenander from the spell. He clenched his fist again and the candle burst into a black sphere of darkness, swallowing the Shadowcaster so that Chisato had no visual. The elf girl drew a breath, took aim at where she thought the head of the Shadowcaster might lie somewhere in the center of the sphere of darkness, and let her arrow fly. Kian heard a thunk, the black cloud dissipated, and the Shadowcaster dropped dead.

Dolmani paralyzed a second Shadowcaster with a spell, ducked behind the lip of the cart, and drew a knife for protection. Calisto got swallowed by dark bands in the same manner as Tenander. However, Dolmani uttered a magical incantation and broke the Shadowcaster's spell. Calisto charged the Shadowcaster with his hooked blade, swung it, and hit him in the side.

Kian charged the second Cataclysm Slayer who was swinging wildly at Akagi. The oriental monk with the butterfly swords was parrying its blows and tumbling backward into a corner. As he closed in on it, the Cataclysm Slayer reoriented on Kian and shot a petrifying cone of invisible power down upon him. Once again, Kian emerged unscathed. He closed his eyes because he knew his vision would deceive him with regard to Zone of Might.

What Kian relied upon now was his finely tuned hearing to replace his sight.

He discerned the scrape of stone against concrete, judged by the faint echo from the rock wall that his target's tail lay a distance of about fifteen feet from the outer bulwark; he invoked the quantum sidestep completely in the dark.

In the next instant he was in free fall.

Kian appeared directly above the Cataclysm Slayer of Zanda just as he'd wanted.

He knew that its head had been ten feet off the ground in the second he'd closed his eyes. He decided to gamble that in the following second, the lumbering statue wouldn't manage to alter its physical position by very much and struck where he though its head might still be located.

Kian swung Bloodbane in a 180 degree circle and cut its head off with one blow.

In his landing, he planted his feet firmly against the Cataclysm Slayer's back, and his weight toppled it onto the stone where it cracked in two pieces. He rolled to his feet; dust coated his armor in a thin layer of gray. He looked up and sighted his last mark which was just now making its way from the stairs into the courtyard.

Meanwhile, two of the shadowcasters surrounded themselves in moving darkness. The shadow magic they controlled floated about them obfuscating their exact location, and they fired crossbow bolts into the fray. Kian stopped long enough to catch three of them out of the air. Calisto took two of the bolts in the shoulders, pulled them out, and kept running. Somehow, he was able to shrug off the unknown venom that coated their bolts.

Akagi parried two crossbow bolts by slicing them with his butterfly swords. Then, he tumbled into one of the spheres of darkness. A moment later, Kian heard a bloodcurdling scream. One of the Shadowcasters collapsed dead, the bubble of darkness from his candle diffusing into vaporous smoke. Akagi's twin butterfly swords ran red with blood. However, in the next instant, the monk arched his back painfully as two poisonous bolts struck him in the spine from two unengaged Shadowcasters. Kian grimaced as he watched foam appear on Akagi's lips. He couldn't do anything for him; he knew that the monk was as good as dead.

Calisto on the other hand got hit with a third bolt and a fourth. Somehow, he was unphased and this fascinated Kian. How was he able to shrug off the poison?

The last Cataclysm Slayer crossed the courtyard to Kian, carrying its weight forward on its serpentine lower body and swung at him with its fists. The dexterous assassin rolled under the punches; the claws from the statue slammed into the stone wall with horrific force and one of the great stones shattered into a spiderweb pattern.

It swung at him again; Kian dodged. Flagstones coated with sweat from his armored feet turned to dust under the massive blow of the enraged Cataclysm Slayer. To Kian's chagrin, Ashir whistled drawing the attention of the Cataclysm Slayer. It was obvious that Ashir believed he was as quick as Kian, that he could dodge the blows of the animated statue. However, he wasn't watching its tail which it whipped around with incredible speed.

Ashir tumbled, but the tail caught him on the legs and hurled him into the first cart. Kian heard his neck snap and his limp body broke through one wooden wheel and caused the cart to impale his broken, dead body with a splintered axel. Blood fountained up from Ashir's chest and sprayed the underside of the wagon.

Saddened, Kian flickered with the sidestep to avoid the tail. He reappeared with eyes closed behind his helmet and stabbed where he thought the midsection of the statue could be found. Bloodbane cut through the black stone like it was soft butter. Kian tilted the blade down, cut through one side of the statue, then struck it through from the other side and made an "X" through the thing's chest.

It fell in four pieces in the courtyard; its magic gone.

A thunderclap shook the stones of the courtyard; Kirhasa hurled lightning at a Shadowcaster.

The deformed Sulasian held up a shadow shield and the five-foot wide bolt of electricity refracted onto Althir who had just managed to kill one of the Shadowcasters in tandem with Calisto. The disgraced Timeron Knight was boiled in his own armor as electricity lanced around him; he fell down, smoke curling up from his body like a badly charred piece of meat.

Kirhasa tried again and recast the bolt of lightning.

This time the Shadowcaster deflected the lightning bolt at Kian. When it struck, the Atlantean boy's whole body was covered in coiling living electricity that boiled around the surface of his armor. It crackled, sizzled, and popped and slid down his sword arm as if it had a life of its own. Unphased, Kian charged the Shadowcaster and cut him down with Bloodbane, releasing a spray of crimson droplets that struck Kian full in the chest and spattered Kirhasa and Tenander.

Globs of red Sulasian blood struck his blade and the sword drank them up like a sponge.

"Yesss," it whispered in his mind. "Sweeeet life."

The three remaining Shadowcasters clenched fists simultaneously; black candles floating next to each one, and all of them targeted Kian. The shadow bands they tried to summon failed against the assassin. Unwilling to give up, they also shot the assassin with bolts from their crossbows; he caught them out of the air and snapped them in his hand. Kian sprung the cibrian blade on the forearm of his armor, flickered with the quantum sidestep, and lanced it through the brain of one of the Shadowcasters.

He kicked the other with his left boot which knocked him into the third.

In the next instant, he quantum sidestepped behind the third, swung Bloodbane, and beheaded them both with one swing. The fight ended with Kian standing over the dead bodies of the Shadowcasters, his armor covered in so much red, it looked like he'd been dipped in scarlet paint.

Dolmani uttered a single word; Kian became wracked with pain and fell to his knees cracking his kneecaps on the stone. Bleeding from his nose, he struggled to lift his head against the pain and regarded Dolmani through the helmet wondering what he'd done to anger his priest. Without warning, Calisto kicked him in the back of the neck, forcing Kian onto the unyielding stone of the courtyard, and started to choke him with his foot until his vision started to blacken and unconsciousness beckoned to him from the edges of his mind.

Kian screamed.