Nattas

Sinister liaisons

The young Queen had stopped screaming.

Nattas, his ears still ringing and eyes ogling at the mayhem, stood semi-paralyzed as everyone rushed about, the High King’s people hurrying to pull a shell-shocked pregnant Nienke away, knights and Lords of the Realm reappearing now that the threat was over and the crowd had dispersed in panic. Most of the city’s guards had run after the stranglers and delivered some heavy-handed justice, whether they deserved it, or not. Some of the nobles appeared angry they missed their chance to shine slaughtering some civilians, but others just looked relieved.

Until word of what had happened spread.

Storm glanced at the distraught and bloodied Miranda getting pulled away from the body of her dead daughter almost violently, her mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out. The horror in her eyes cut Lord Nattas deep and filled him with shame.

Also something else, much deeper.

A dangerous sentiment he tried to squash fast as he could.

Storm had a long litany of problems before even going down that particular path.

The mess of this day will have serious repercussions for years, he decided, his mind adding in an attempt to cope with the tragedy, the only way Storm knew. I need a good whore to sink my cock into.

Though this being Alden and all, I’ll probably have to settle for a middlin’ one.

Yeah.

“No luck chief,” a tired-looking Titus announced, interrupting his thoughts of cheap whores and brutally murdered royal children. “Searched the whole darn tower, found none of ‘em. They were gone, before we got there.”

It figures.

Storm stared into the hired blade’s eyes.

“How?” He asked simply.

Titus shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’ve no clue. We run up the stairs from the only entrance. Every one left behind to guard the tower was dead.”

“Give me a number of casualties,” Storm snapped impatiently.

“Five, plus the soldier standing guard at the entrance.”

“Why had the commander emptied it?”

“Chief, he tried to help with the uprising,” Titus replied. “That’s enough men to guard an empty tower. I don’t think he was involved.”

Lord Nattas smacked his lips frustrated, a sharp jolt of pain on his cheek making him flinch. He put his fingers to check and they came back bloody.

“You need to have that cut checked out,” Titus advised him. “I don’t think the Dottore’s cure works for all infections.”

Three hours later the square had emptied of people, the dead removed and the only sign left behind, of what was to be a glorious event turned into a nightmare, were the still standing deserted pavilions and a lot of broken chairs.

It wasn’t an easy affair, picking up the pieces. The aftermath was overshadowed, not by the untold grief from both Kings and their Queens for the loss of their offspring, although there was plenty of that, but the rather trivial matter of the coming burial. King Alistair wanted Silvie to be buried in Alden next to his second son, while High King Antoon wanted his murdered son and his future wife to be, to travel to Issir’s Eagle and stay together in their final resting place. Be together in death, since they were robbed of that in life, Antoon had said in a touching final word.

Lord Storm Nattas found the High King’s proposal rather romantic, but he kept his mouth shut for the entire argument. The whole rotten dispute was highly tasking for Miranda especially, the callousness and gall of the nobles to quarrel over the still warm corpse of her little girl near revolting to her.

The most notable incident came at the end, when Kelholt in the pretense of breaking the stalemate and finally taking the dead children inside before they started rotting, gave a fiery speech and an impressive call for vengeance and Uher’s holy retribution to the blasphemous unbelievers that had caused this. It caught the royals’ attention, the timing perfect, Storm had to begrudgingly admit and the Grand Inquisitor ended his speech with a smug smirk on his face, his final words a terrible warning.

Only the vile blood of monsters can wash away the raped innocence, Kelholt had declared and Storm could read a room, or a city square, well enough to know the man speaking against this insanity, would be the first one to lose his head.

If he was fortunate.

“Ah, here’s Nattas,” King Alistair said, voice menacing. “Take a seat Lord of Whispers, while we finish up here.”

The King’s face had hardened even more, but there was no sorrow in his eyes. Only pure, undulated hate. Alistair was always a rigidly unforgiving man. This new tragedy hadn’t mellowed him up at all. Quite the contrary. Storm took a seat at the council’s table inside the palace building, his eyes on the leathery High Magister of Uher, Appius Gordian; the other man present inside the room. Storm had a less than jovial relationship with him and after what had happened with Kelholt earlier, the pious man’s presence near the King of Regia was troubling to say the least.

“I’ve tried to warn your Majesty,” Gordian continued, after casting him a glance full of disgust. Storm hadn’t time for a bath, or a change of clothes and he was odorous and bloody that much was true. He was also working hard, this being the second day he hadn’t slept at all, trying to flush out the culprits and didn’t appreciate it at all. “These old gods’ fanatics have been encroaching everywhere. A cancerous scab that must be excised, or burned away for the kingdom to heal.”

Storm placed both of his hands on his new cane, listening to the King’s answer.

“Which Gods?” Alistair asked, more a snarl.

“What does it matter?” Gordian replied. “My King, is Abrakas a better god just because sailors favor him? Is Nesande benevolent? Why? Because old women rub ointments on legs to combat gout? I don’t think so.”

“We killed those…” The King paused, a crack in his hard demeanor visible for a tiny moment, before stubbornly pushing forward. “Those responsible for what happened, are dead.”

“Not all, your majesty.”

Fuck you. You slimy, slithering piss-poor excuse of a worm!

Abrakas, strike this fool down!

King Alistair had his eyes on Storm, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Is the city searched?”

“Locked up,” Nattas replied with no hesitation. “We’re going house to house, your Majesty.”

“The High King demanded the culprits delivered to Kaltha,” Alistair replied, clenching his jaw so hard, it made his whole face distort. “They murdered his firstborn and heir. He isn’t in a forgiving mood.”

The last a warning. Alistair wasn’t in a forgiving mood either. For some reason, the blame seemed to have focused on him. Storm cleared his throat, the glee in Gordian’s eyes unnerving and nodded with difficulty.

“I will get to the bottom of this, your Majesty.”

“Burn the scab, my King,” Gordian advised. “Kaltha will go ahead and burn their symbols, punish those practicing magic severely.”

Storm knew Gordian used the word burn literally in this context.

“They won’t just come out and admit it!” Alistair snarled angry. “How are we to tell?”

Gordian took a step back, a little pale in the face, but determined.

Don’t do it, Storm thought.

“My people can for the most part, your majesty,” Gordian replied. “Better to be wrong, than let the rot slip away.”

A few innocent killed was something Gordian could live with apparently. Storm had no problem with that, but he knew very well that few could turn many in the blink of an eye, the number ever growing until no one was safe.

Himself included.

No one had bothered putting the man together. The insurrectionist, one of twenty lying dead in the small yard behind the palace, was still split in two equal parts, the damage done by the King’s legendary sword darn right impressive. The man had half his torso and legs placed right next to his head and what was left of the rest of his body. It was bizarrely horrifying and fascinating at the same time. The man next to him, was painted white from his nose down to his ankles and naked much like the rest of them. None of the others sporting the same decorations.

“You don’t believe, what Gordian is selling,” King Alistair standing on his left shoulder commented. He’d taken Storm outside to show him the slain attackers.

“That’s Kelholt’s words coming out of his mouth, your majesty.”

“What are they then? If not religious fanatics, then what? You’ve seen them protesting, since yesterday.”

Assassins were behind this.

Perhaps even the guild.

One of them, I let escape and she killed your daughter for all intends and purposes.

“I have,” Storm breathed deeply, feeling the start of an ulcer in his stomach. “But it’s not something they’ve done in the past. However many they are, they realize laying low is the better strategy. Why come out and provoke… attack a royal event?”

King Alistair clasped his hands behind his back and silently examined the corpses laid before them in two rows. The blood had drained, most of them had frozen in time and their grey-white skin made them all look alike, both Issir and Lorians.

“I wanted another son,” Alistair said, sounding strained for the first time. “But one cannot help himself…” He exhaled, lined face darkening. “Silvie was a lovely girl.” The King of Regia said simply, letting some of his pain show unwittingly.

“Aye, she was,” Storm replied, a lump in his throat.

“I fear for the Queen,” Alistair continued. “It’s a heavy blow, so soon after we lost Ralph.”

Storm feared for the old King as well, but couldn’t speak of it in front of him and just nodded, before adding.

“She’s an Alden, your majesty. I believe the Queen will survive this tragedy.”

Alistair grimaced. “Don’t marry an Alden lass, Lord Nattas. Gods help you, if you fall for one,” He cautioned him; it was a jest, as much as a warning. Storm frowned, but went along with it, with half a smile.

“I don’t believe I’ll have the chance, your majesty.”

Luthos raised a naughty eyebrow.

King Alistair stared him for a bit, before smacking his lips.

“No. I don’t believe you will.”

Abrakas ye foul, disgusting deity. I almost had a heart attack here!

“Which accursed god is this?” The King of Regia asked, pointing at the painted insurrectionist. “I’ve spotted one of them, years back I believe. It was during a campaign.”

Storm looked at the painted stiff with narrowed eyes. He’d a large wound in his gut. Red on white. Shaved skull and a Lorian face.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen one of them, your majesty,” He replied honestly, much as he hated it. “That’s no old god, I know of.”

The guard caught up with him, just as Storm was ready to leave after his meeting with the King was over, using the back exit located in the palace’s gardens. He paused to stare at the young man with red-rimmed, tired eyes.

“What do you want?”

“You are summoned in the Queen’s quarters, Lord Nattas,” The guard said stiffly.

Storm smacked his lips and eyed him suspiciously.

What manner of trap is this?

Abrakas is that yer doin’, ye piece of dried shit?

“I heard she was indisposed," He noted cautiously.

“What should I report?” The man droned, disregarding his query.

Storm sighed.

“Can I change? I’ll need to freshen up,” It’d come out worse than he intended. The guard frowned, but then shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“After last call then,” He said.

“Isn’t that a little late in the evening?” Storm jested, but it wasn’t well received.

“Use this door,” The guard said simply and turned heel to walk away, leaving Lord Nattas staring at his back a little numb and thoroughly confused.

I need to be careful around her, Storm decided on the way back to his apartment. Titus accompanied him, but sensing his mood remained silent for the duration of the short trip.

Lord Nattas pressed his back on the chair, to alleviate some of the pain. A bath and a meal in Mercos’ place had restored some of his strength, after the strenuous last couple of days and the lack of sleep, had creeped up on him the moment he allowed himself to relax.

The wine had helped of course.

He needed to rest a bit, but he’d a meeting with the Queen later. A weird call and quite unexpected. Perhaps she wants to be personally apprised on the searches, he thought. Kept in the loop. Nothing sinister in this. Storm let his jaw rest on his chest, his eyes closing on their own. Everyone was searching for the culprits, but it was mostly pointless. No one had seen those on the tower, operating the Scorpion. Taking a small respite, isn’t the worst idea, Storm decided. Else I’ll just drop like a rock at some nigh inopportune time. Storm didn’t expect the woman responsible to stick around. She’s long gone by now. Her mission accomplished, he thought and allowed sleep to take over.

For half a minute.

“You are a hard man to kill, Lord Nattas,” Maja’s sultry voice breathed in his ear, the touch of cold blade on his neck. All of Storm’s drowsiness run away screaming and he turned fully alert in an instant. “But surviving a lethal blow, also removes Ora’s mark.”

“I won’t scream,” Nattas croaked, deathly scared.

“Hmm, I know you won’t.”

Think you fool!

Ah.

The mark.

“No mark,” He said quickly. “Your… contract is fulfilled.”

Maja pulled the blade away and slapped the back of his head once.

“You’re smart, when scared shitless.”

“You want to escape the city,” Storm said, vowing to pull her innards out her cunt, first chance she gave him and glanced her way. Maja had her blond hair tied back at the nappe and wore a tight leather vest and pants. There were at least three knives on her, Storm could count, sheathed on a weapon’s girdle, the female assassin wore on her waist. But although her pretty freckles were there, Storm realized this was a different woman.

Older even.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Maja retorted, stepping back. “I wanted to know how you did it.”

How did you survive? Was her meaning.

“Who put the contract on me?” Storm countered, finding his balance again, after the initial scare, thoughts of revenge turning into a way to gain much needed knowledge and Maja chuckled at that. Her eyes turned cold though.

“You’re not that smart. Stop pushing your luck,” She said, measuring her words. “What had you said to me back then? We don’t know a man’s heart truly dear Storm, or a woman’s.”

“Is the guild involved?”

Maja raised a thin brow mockingly.

“Why?”

“I want to hire you,” Storm replied quickly, thinking on his feet.

“You need a name for that.”

“How do I get a name?”

“You offer something that could kill you in return,” Maja replied, looking him up and down, all curious. “Or just know it.”

“I used a dottore’s remedy to beat your poison.” He admitted.

She pouted her mouth. “Yeah, I had my suspicions.”

“Well?” Storm asked her hopeful.

“That’s not enough, dear Storm.”

Nattas looked at his cane frustrated, Maja scoffed.

“Don’t be an idiot. No remedy can stop a blade from cutting your throat.”

“You could have killed me ten times over,” Storm started. “But you didn’t.”

“I wanted it to be seen as an accident,” She explained, sitting on the table in front of him. “Another attempt so soon… well, it didn’t go as planned.”

Storm was certain, this wasn’t the only reason.

What else though?

“Something that could kill me,” Storm murmured, wanting to find out as much as he could. “Not exactly a bargain.”

“Well?” Maja asked using his own words, side of her mouth curled up into a smile.

For fuck’s sake.

“Abrakas protects me,” He said simply, too tired to play around with her for much longer. Maja nodded, as if she wasn’t surprised at all and jumped down lithely. Before Storm could flinch away, she stooped near his face, her lips almost touching the wound on his cheek and whispered.

“Ask for Faerith K’lael and a Silent Servant will come forth,” The Assassin whispered, her voice as much chilling, as sensual to his overwhelmed senses.

“What does this mean?” Storm squawked taken aback. “Is that you?”

Maja stood up straight and examined his face for a long moment.

“Oras serves the Gods of this Realm and its people,” She said simply and Storm realized her accent had changed. Even her face looked slightly different, the light coming from the many torches Mercos had lit up for him avoiding it somehow, dancing around its edges and shadows had started pooling under her feet.

What in Abrakas rotted piss is this? A stunned Lord Nattas wondered, Maja’s last words echoing the bakery’s backyard, when she was gone.

Lost, in a sea of shadows.

“He serves no other God,” The Assassin had said, shedding light to one of his queries unbeknownst to him. “And no other people.”