CHAPTER TEN

*~~~**~~~*

Wicket

*~~~**~~~*

15th of Decepter, 935 PC

Diedro sat atop his horse and stared into the near distance. Tension filled his shoulder. From Wicket’s vantage point behind him, the flame on Diedro’s torch looked about the same size as the fire that was engulfing Blue Lakes. What in the three hells is happening there? The people of Blue Lakes ain’t nobody’s enemy. Well, they weren’t. Alaric’s got himself a way of creating trouble for people. His pondering was quickly replaced by a horrible thought. She ain’t there is she? No. She ain’t there. She’s in DuVale. Half a continent away. Right?

Despite Diedro’s voice being deep and haunting, he managed to ease Wicket’s mind. “Hounds.” That explains his uneasiness. He looked at Elgar. “Anybody they wanted dead is dead by now.”

“They didn’t want Nathaniel dead. More likely he’s the one that led ‘em there.” Elgar never took his eyes off the village.

What Elgar Sampson lacked in social skills he made up for with his ability to problem-solve and lead hardened men like Shade and Diedro. I reckon it’s time I admit I ain’t no angel myself no more. Yes, there was cause for admiration when it came to Elgar. The man made tough decisions with no hesitation, said the things most weren’t willing to say, and could plan an ambush or full on assault with the best of them. None of which were Wicket’s strongest attributes. Not by a long shot. He preferred to make people laugh and go in the direction someone else was pointing. That’s not to say he never had a good thought in his brain, but that’s as far as they got before they drifted off into the far corners of his mind. He liked it that way. Taking orders. Not worrying too much about thinking for himself. That way there was always someone else his conscience could blame for the horrible things he had done in recent years. Of course, Wicket would never have been surprised if someone told him they didn’t like Elgar, with his rough edges and sharp tongue, but he had learned the dance required to not get the brunt of the man’s harsh personality. To the point that they were now as close as he’d been with anyone since Iris. Nights in pubs, Wicket charming ladies, Elgar impressing them with his shapeshifting magic. Both reaping the benefits that came with it. They were quite the duo. But above all else, Wicket appreciated the fact that Elgar never asked him to do anything he wasn’t comfortable doing. If only his brother was so kind.

“What could they want in Blue Lakes?” asked Shade. “Most people don’t even know it’s there.”

“Me,” said Hill. “Ain’t that obvious?”

Hill Ebwire had grated on Wicket’s nerves like a mosquito with a real keen liking for something on his dinner plate during the ride from Hawk’s Nest. Three hours worth of telling him stories about the state of the empire. Every other sentence was about the bitch in DuVale, referring to Iris as his old love. And when it wasn’t Iris, it was The Hounds of Haldar and how they wanted her dead for doing something they do everyday. An eye for an eye like ma used to say. What is this woman worth to Alaric that he’d put the rest of through this?

“How could they know where we’d take you?” asked Wicket. We shouldn’t be taking her anywhere. We should be sleeping in a decent bed for the first time in weeks.

Elgar put all speculation to rest. “I’m sure plenty of people are after ya, Hill, and with good reason. But I don’t think that's why the Hounds showed up in Blue Lakes.” He ran his hand through his flowing golden hair. Even with nothing more than torchlight Wicket could tell Elgar was running his tongue along the front of his top teeth. A sure fire sign the man knew something more than he was revealing.

Elgar continued. “Before we left, Alaric told me his informants have betrayed us. Doubt they had any idea we were coming here. Ames probably just chose to get on their good side by showin’ ‘em the entrance to Blue Lakes. In case Alaric sent someone after him.”

Wicket had come to that conclusion himself already. Sampson didn’t hire the dull and dimwitted as his informants. He put wise men in tough places and let them figure it out. And Nathaniel Ames was one of the best of them. Something else was bothering Elgar.

Shade said, “Let’s go kill some pups then. Show this fool he chose the wrong side. I’ve been getting restless anyway.” He had lit a smoke stick on Diedro’s torch. It bounced up and down as he spoke. .

“Sorry gents but I ain’t walking right into a village full of Hounds.” Hall was blowing warmth into her hands.

“I reckon we don’t know they’re still there,” said Wicket. His back was hunched over, his cloak pulled tight. The temperature had dropped considerably during their slow traipsing through the night.

“If the flames are burning, they’re still there,” said Diedro.

“Light the world ablaze and watch it burn,” said Shade. “You ran with some good folks, didn’t ya?” The ex-Hound flattened his mustache with his fingers then ran them down the sides of his mouth to his chin as he nodded.

Hall continued her reluctance. “Go ahead and take care of ‘em. I’ll sit this one out.”

“Fine. But you’re coming with us,” said Elgar firmly.

“Who do you think you are? Your brother? Because you ain’t. And since you ain’t, I’ll be making my own decisions.”

Wicket knew the words had an extra bit of bite to them. There had been a few drunken nights when Elgar let down his walls. Each time he always brought up the same thing; how long he had been living in Alaric’s shadows. An older brother that knew who he was and what he wanted to be. And accomplished it. Elgar was the exact opposite. He had no idea who he was or what he was meant to be. Wicket reckoned that all had something to do with the man spending less time looking like himself than the countless faces he could become. But thinking things out like that took a little more effort than he liked to put forth.

“Fine then, but we’re done with ya.” He flicked his hand at her. “Get.” He looked at the rest of them. “We-”

“Don’t you shoo me away like a fly,” said Hall. Didn’t figure ya could. Worth a shot, I guess.

Wicket was growing annoyed. “Either help us or shut your mouth.”

She shot him a glare. He had half a mind to put some sharper words through her ego but refrained. It wasn’t his way to use words as weapons. Couldn’t say she didn’t deserve them though, just didn’t like how it made him feel afterward. Once he had cooled off. And he would calm down. That he knew.

“Easy Lotus lover,” she said.

Iris immediately shot into his mind. Her caramel skin, her green eyes, her long black hair. And the angry scowl that was on her face the last time he saw her in Locke. I’m sorry.

“Wick, take care of this,” said Elgar.

He had a tight grip on Hall’s mind a second later. He pointed toward Elgar. “Listen.” Hall smiled and turned obediently. “Make it quick,” said Wicket. “Not wasting much magic on this one.” He glared at Hall’s back.

“Not much to say,” said Elgar. “We want a man named Nathaniel Ames. He’s about as tall as Wick and looks like he’s had his ass beat in one too many brawls. Don’t kill, as much as he might make ya want to.”

“If he’s up and turned his back on Sampson, then it may be that some Lotus are lurkin’,” said Wicket.

“On with it then,” said Shade. He flicked what was left of his smoke stick into the night. The small flame could be seen burning in the grass.

Wicket released his grip on Hall and they were off. He couldn’t tell if the woman was following or not, but he didn’t care. Alaric ain’t gonna be happy if she don’t make it. But ya gotta deserve being rescued if ya ask me… she don’t deserve it.

*~~~**~~~*

Wicket had been to Blue Lakes once before when he and Alaric had stayed there overnight. As soon as they had arrived he developed a strong appreciation for the sense of humor of whoever named the small village. Rather than sitting on the edge of beautiful bodies of crisp blue water, Blue Lakes sat atop a dry, rocky, plateau surrounded by grasslands. The closest source of water he knew of was a day’s walk to Candlebury River that cut Galahart’s Valley in half. He reckoned Blue Lakes was more of a place to visit than live. Too much back and forth for bare necessities for his liking.

Nothing of the village was visible from anywhere below the plateau. There was however, dark smoke billowing into the night sky. You wouldn’t even know there was people livin’ up there if someone didn’t tell ya. Ames is goin’ to pay for selling these people out.

They followed Elgar along the jagged wall of the landmass as he searched for the hidden entrance in the light of Diedro’s torch. Calling the entrance hidden didn’t exactly line up right in Wicket’s head. Technically speaking, it was right there on the face of the plateau. Somewhere. He couldn’t remember how Alaric had found the narrow gap to squeeze through. Elgar stopped at an area that would have looked perfectly flat and connected to the rest of the wall from a distance. In truth, Wicket couldn’t actually tell that it wasn’t and he was directly in front of it.

“What are we doing?’ asked Shade.

Elgar dropped from his horse and handed the reins to Wicket. He stepped toward the wall of the plateau and slipped behind an area of the rock that hid a staircase the people of Blue Lakes had carved into the plateau at some point in history. Elgar’s head popped back out from behind the rocks. He looked directly at Hall, who had thought better of her choice to run away from the group trying to help her.

“Stay with the horses,” he said to her. “If there’s trouble, ride to Thronerock. The Black Boar Inn.”

For once, Hill had no words. I’d be shocked if she’s still here when we come back for the horses.

*~~~**~~~*

The staircase was crudely built, crumbling stairs with uneven heights between each step, and essentially formed a trench through the plateau. The walls to either side narrowed and widened for no reason other than how the rocks had fallen during the carving process. Archaic depictions of every variety were painted on them in some kind of dark chalky paste. Wicket looked up as he walked behind Shade. The stacks of smoke could be seen drifting south with the wind.

Wicket knew confidence wasn’t something he could reach out and touch but it sure felt like it in that moment. Diedro carried his battleaxe over his shoulder nonchalantly. Its blade to the ground, the pointed butt staring at the sky. Shade was twirling a knife between his fingers in his right hand. His left arm dangled loosely down the side of his body. The spiked ball hanging from the chain on his mace tapped against each stair ominously. Walkin’ right up on then. Better get my mind right if I’m gonna keep up with these boys.

When they were halfway up the stairs the back of a Hound’s silver helm appeared just over the brim of the top stair. It looked a much duller gray than silver in the night but its shape was undeniably recognizable. A polearm stood beside the Hound, a few feet taller than his head. The tip reminded Wicket of the end of a fancy spear with an axe blade attached.

Elgar stopped, glanced at the rest of them. He nodded his head and raised his bow, arrow nocked. Wicket had his own bow ready, daggers all around his belt and his longsword on his hip. He was a specialist with none, but more than capable with each.

“A mace?” Wicket whispered to Shade. He could see the man’s cheeks lift into a grin from behind him. Don’t seem like an assassin’s weapon o’choice.

It was three steps later that the Hound at the top of the staircase heard the rhythmic clunk of Shade’s mace. He turned around slowly, arrogantly, as if nothing could possibly disrupt his enjoyment of the savagery befalling Blue Lakes. Elgar’s arrow was through his gaping mouth before any words left his lips. He collapsed backward, releasing his grip on his polearm. It stood on its own merit for a second, then fell down the stairs. It slid down several stairs and came to a stop just before it reached them. Diedro picked it up as they continued up the stairs.

The yelling began.

“I reckon they know we’re here,” said Wicket to no one in particular.

“Good,” said Shade.

“Aren’t you an assassin?” asked Wicket.

“Not tonight.”

“What are ya then?” asked Diedro behind a scoff.

Shade laughed softly as he prepared to move. “In the middle of the night like this... A nightmare I guess.”

Two more Hounds appeared at the top of the stairs. Shade’s knife caught one Hound in the throat. Wicket’s arrow whizzed by his comrades heads and found a home in the stomach of the man on the left, puncturing his breastplate. The Hound stumbled, grabbed at the arrow with a hand and somehow stayed on his feet. His wide eyes looked through the holes of his helm, they were locked on Diedro.

“Jorl,” Deidro said as he took off running up the stairs, pushing past Elgar in the process. Shade followed, taking long strides that cleared multiple steps at a time.

Pebbles fell from above. Wicket looked up to see three Hounds lining the edge of the trench on his left. Arrows were pointed down at him and Elgar.

“Go!” he yelled as the first sounds of iron scraped against rock.

As Wicket ran he saw Diedro swinging the polearm across Jorl’s face. It sent the Hound lurching to his right and out of Wicket’s line of sight.

Shade was in a full sprint up the stairs. Toward the top, he planted his foot on one of the jagged protrusions of the wall, and pushed himself up and across the stairs to the opposite wall. A third leap sent him high into the air, mace swirling over his head. Wicket didn’t see what happened next, but he heard the screams.

More arrows struck the steps and walls around them as they ran. He didn’t look back.

Elgar was out of the trench now. He had released an arrow and nocked another by the time Wicket emerged beside him. The top of the plateau was as flat as he expected, as rocky and dry too. The handful of burning huts sat to their left. There were no shrieks of terror like one might hear coming from a burning village. That ain’t a good sign.

The Hounds at the stairs had more arrows nocked and aimed at them forty feet away. Then there were two as a sailing polearm impaled one enemy, sending him over the edge of the trench and into the darkness of the staircase, the weapon still jutting from the man’s abdomen as he fell. One of the remaining Hounds turned his gaze to the incoming Shade. The other managed to release his arrow. The arrow moved too quickly to see in the dark conditions, but Wicket could hear it just fine as it split the small space between him and Elgar before either man could react. Too close.

Shade’s mace was no longer in hand as he ran toward the charging Hound. He slid on one knee beneath the arrow that was shot at him. He was out of the slide and back on his feet in one smooth movement. His palm caught the man in the chin. A jab to the Hound’s exposed throat sent the man’s free hand up in pain just as Shade yanked his bow from the other and kicked him backward. The Hound fell to his backside. Shade slammed the limb of the bow through the Hound’s throat and turned his gaze to the one that had fired at Wicket and Elgar. Before he reached him Wicket’s arrow punctured the Hound’s helm and sent him toppling over.

Wicket smiled. “Beat him to that one,” he said to Elgar.

There was no answer.

He turned to look at his friend, but Elgar was gone, running toward the burning village. Diedro was further ahead. Wicket let out a sigh at the prospect of running. I got ten more years to my name than the next youngest buck out here. He started to sprint after the others. Shade fell in beside him as he ran.

“Your magic. Ain’t never seen nothin’ like it,” Wicket said.

“What magic?” Shade grinned and accelerated, leaving Wicket to watch his graceful stride.

The burning huts of Blue Lakes surrounded a larger building built of thick timbers. It looked like a rudimentary temple with a less than impressive looking statue of Epglin Galahart in front of it. The head had been broken off and lay at the base, eyeing the world from a new perspective.

A collection of ten to twelve Hounds were gathering in the front of the statue as Diedro came to a stop about twenty yards from them. Elgar slowed and walked into place beside him, Shade not long after. Wicket arrived last and was panting when he did. He remained behind the others as he caught his breath.

One of the Hounds, their leader Wicket assumed, spoke directly to Diedro. “Pyvere.” His western accent came from deep in his throat.

“Akive.”

“Found some new mates, ay?”

Wicket slid in between Diedro and Shade now that he was breathing better. The mercenaries shimmered behind the folding air around the fire, their grinning faces twisted into wavy, eerie messes.

Diedro opened his palms and laid them flat as he spread his arms. “Some men who are worth my time.”

The man speaking to Diedro had his sword drawn but it was hanging at his side. He and his men were dressed in armor from head to toe. A large H painted on their chest. White cloaks hung down their backs.

“You had no business burning this village,” said Elgar.

Diedro was nodding his head in agreement. He licked his dry lips.

“Did we not?” said Akive. He turned to his men. “Say sorry lads.” The group of Hounds laughed. Akive turned back to the Purists. “Fuck you blondie,” he said to Elgar. “And fuck you and your new found morals, Diedro. You had no right to abandon us. You gave an oath.”

Shade and took a slight step forward. Diedro extended his arm across Wicket and though he did not touch Shade, the assassin stopped.

“Aye, I did give an oath. But it was Rhyne who refused to back me and the Purists against The Lotus Queen. If he ain’t willing to help me, why would I help him?”

“No reason to get a lotta good men killed over something that don’t have nothing to do with us.”

“You keep tellin’ yourself that and what’s coming’s gonna find you with your head in the dirt.”

Akive stared across the distance between them silently. He turned his head slowly, keeping his eyes on Diedro. The crackling of the fire around them was the only sound atop the plateau. He removed his iron helmet and tucked it under his arm. He examined Diedro carefully. “You told them.”

“Aye,” Diedro said. What’s this now? Told who what?

Akive made the slightest of gestures with his head and before Wicket could react an arrow was coming toward him and Diedro. Even quicker, he felt a hand on his shoulder, pushing him sideways. His bow was ripped from his hand. As he stumbled, he watched Diedro snatch the arrow from the air, nock it, and release it in a blink of an eye. Akive fell backward into the arms of his men behind him. The arrow in his throat. The Hounds who had caught their leader lowered him to the ground. The others stepped in front of the ailing man, weapons drawn. Then, with no more than a silent understanding, the three hells erupted atop the plateau.