Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger (57 page)

Rasal and Lasar pulled their swords out as
well and fell upon the two soldiers.

The Tchulians were caught off guard by the
sudden attack.

Lasar’s man went down instantly, run through
by the attacking knight. Lasar turned to help his brother, he knew
that they had to finish these men immediately before the racket
brought more soldiers.

The Tchulian lieutenant was no simpleton, he
had suspected something was wrong and
leaped
back when Becaris pulled his sword.

Becaris lunged forward in a graceful
extension, but the Tchulian danced back out of harm while fending
off the blade with his gauntlet.

The lieutenant raised his voice and called
out. “Help, spies in the keep, help me Tchulians, help!”

The second soldier went down on Rasal’s
sword, but when they turned to help Becaris four more soldiers came
around the far end of the corridor with weapons drawn.
Even more
footsteps could be heard coming
down the stairs behind those soldiers.

“Another time,” Becaris said to the
lieutenant
and stepped back out of
range. He gave the Tchulian a quick salute with his sword and then
spoke to the twins, “Run for the door.”

The three Knight Protectors raced toward the
door at the end of the hall, going away from the lieutenant and the
pursuing soldiers. The large ironbound door separated the two
buildings and could be barred from either side in case enemies
forced the defenders to abandon their building.

Upon passing through the three knights
quickly turned and slammed the heavy door closed and then dropped
the bar across the slots on their side to stop the pursuit. As the
bar dropped into place they felt and heard the impact of several
bodies on the other side of the door.

“Come quickly, while confusion still hampers
them,” Becaris said to the brothers.

They ran down the new hall and burst through
the third door on the left. They found themselves in another hall
that led to a guardroom above the dungeons. As swiftly as they
could they raced for the end with weapons still out and ready for
the upcoming battle.

When they were only twenty feet from the
guardroom door at the end of the hall a bell in the tower began to
ring the call to arms.

The Knight Protectors kicked open the door
into the dungeon guardroom and found four guards who were all in
the midst of getting to their weapons.

The violent entry sent the door banging into
the wall and startled the guards; they froze for a critical moment
as they gasped at the apparition of the three warriors rushing in
upon them. Then they madly grabbed for their weapons.

They never made it. The Knight Protectors
swept through them like a scythe through wheat.

The chairs and card table in the middle of
the room went flying as the three knights smashed into the Tchulian
guards.

Rasal struck the first guard who flew back
from the impact and smashed into the table. Cards flew into the air
and seemed to fall in slow motion as they tumbled down all over the
room.

The Tchulian guards tried to snatch up
weapons, but they fell to the onslaught of the Knight Protectors.
The guard's bodies landed amongst the fallen cards.

The knights did not have time to pause; the
sound of boots coming down the hall propelled them into action.
They grabbed three torches off the wall mounts and picked up a few
of the dead soldiers’ swords. Becaris spotted the cell key ring and
snatched it off a peg on the wall next to the
door
while Rasal flung open the door that led
into the dungeon.

They quickly stepped onto the landing above
the stairs and closed the door to the room of dead men behind them.
There was no bar to lock the door from this side, so they wedged
the Tchulians’ swords under the door to slow pursuit.

With the door secured they hurried down the
stairs and began a swift check of each cell, looking for G’Taklar.
They could hear sounds of pounding from the wedged door as the
pursuers in the room above tried to force their way into the
dungeon. As the knights checked the last two cells they heard the
guard room door start to grind open as it gave in to the massive
onslaught of weight from the other side.

Seeing that G’Taklar was not among the
prisoners the knights retreated down the halls that led to the
caverns of the souldead.

In the cave in the
desert,
Sergeant Herms was sweating furiously. He managed
to roll and wiggle his rotund body across the dusty ground to a
large rough rock. For the next three
hours,
he rubbed the rope that bound his hands on the
stone hoping to wear through the tough fibers.

Exhausted from the effort he took several
rest periods, he’d think about revenge until he had enough energy
to resume work on the rope.

“I’ll roast the maggots over a slow fire and
piss on their blistered bodies for
bast
’in,” the fat sergeant muttered to himself. He wanted
to get free in time to catch the knights while they were still in
the keep. He’d been thinking about
it
and from their description of G'Taklar he now strongly
suspected that the new recruit in his training compound was the man
for whom they were searching. It all made sense now, he had heard
of the patrols searching the desert and town for an escaped
prisoner. Most of the Tchulian soldiers were not taking the search
too seriously, they were sure their escaped prisoner had died in
the souldead infested caverns.

Sergeant Herms figured that he had their
escaped prisoner right under his thumb, the similarity of the new
recruit's name, the timing, and his foreign accent brought it all
together.

The sergeant knew that if he could just get
loose he could stop the spies and deliver the escaped prisoner. He
figured that he was bound to get rewarded, perhaps even transferred
out of this hell hole and into one of the elite Merc platoons, the
ones that got the high paid postings.

By his estimate the Lindankar knights would
just be entering the keep; he figured they would have wanted it to
be completely dark before attempting to infiltrate the
fortress.

He went back to sawing the rope against the
rock, visions of torture fueling his rage.
Finally,
the frayed rope gave and his hands were free.
The tired sergeant laughed madly as he pulled off the last of the
ropes from around his feet.

Getting to his feet, he staggered toward the
town lights a few leagues distant.

Poison woke the next morning with the wisps
of an interesting dream fading from her consciousness. She had been
in a huge palace where people all deferred to her like she was
royalty. She had been wearing a sweeping gown of lace,
silk,
and velvet, which was strange since she
had never worn a dress within her adult memories.

“Good morning, Poison. How did you sleep?”
Elizabeth asked, from where she lay curled up sideways on her
blanket.

Poison got the feeling that she had been
watching her for some time.

“I slept quite well, thank you. My it is a
beautiful morning... ” she trailed off as a puzzled and then a
scared expression appeared on her face. Then the
memory
of the night’s proceedings returned and
with excitement she exclaimed, “Glory! It worked; I spoke
like
a
‘ighborn
lady, but ‘ow come it only lasted a moment?”

“Control your emotions; speak calmly,
thoughtfully, and slowly. Go ahead and try it,” Elizabeth
encouraged.

Poison took in a deep breath to calm herself
and then spoke slower, trying out her new ability. “How are you
today?” Her voice came out in the cultured accent of the nobility.
Pleased at her success she tried another sentence without waiting
for a response to her question, “Last night I dreamt of a palace
and I was dressed in a beautiful gown.” Her voice continued in the
softened accent of the upper class.

Elizabeth smiled her encouragement without
speaking.

Thrilled with the sound of her voice Poison
tried another sentence. “Do you have anything I could drink this
morning? My throat is dry.”

“Well that seems to have worked,” Elizabeth
said with pleasure. The sorceress noted that Poison did sound a lot
like her, something that Poison did not notice because voices
always sound different to the person speaking. Poison's voice was
slightly lower, but her pronunciation and cadence were identical to
Elizabeth. The sorceress didn’t bring it to Poison’s attention.

Hetark returned from the nearby hilltop
where he had been scouting the terrain from that vantage point.

Poison watched him as he crouched down on
the balls of his feet to roll up a blanket with his back to the
women. “Good morning, Hetark, did you have a pleasant rest last
night?” she asked with her new accent.

“Yes, milady. I think we may reach Myrnvale
late this afternoon. I could see a haze of smoke ahead, probably
from the citizen’s morning meal cooking,” he answered, thinking
Elizabeth had spoken.

“Yes, you are correct. I’ve camped here
before and barring any unforeseen delays we should reach the city
before dark,” Poison responded, and winked at Elizabeth.

“You’ve traveled here before?” Hetark said
in a puzzled voice and turned to look at Elizabeth for her
response.

“Yes, I have been through here often,”
Poison answered with a twinkle in her eyes.

Hetark’s gaze snapped over to her and then
back to Elizabeth, who only smiled at him in
answer
.

“I beg your pardon, I had thought I was
speaking with Lady Ardellen,” the slightly embarrassed knight
said.

“It’s quite all right. What do you think of
my new accent?” Poison asked.

“Very becoming,” he answered, but he was
bothered by the fact that she sounded so much like Elizabeth. He
found it disconcerting, like a wild purclaw with the melody of a
songflutter
.

Poison mistook his puzzled response for
sarcasm. “Well, I’ve noticed you don’t think there’s anything wrong
with switching to a gutter accent when you feel the need,” she
retorted.

He was angered by her attack. “Perhaps I
think that people shouldn’t try to climb above their station in
life.”

“That was uncalled for, Hetark, and unworthy
of you,” Elizabeth interjected.

“You’re right,” he said, recognizing his
rude response for what it was; he straightened his back and
apologized to Poison. “Poison, I wish you the best of luck in your
endeavor to improve yourself. I despise people who think themselves
perfect and lord it over people of a
lower
station in life. Such people are like a pool of
water
if you look through you’ll
see the rotting mud underneath. I have just been guilty of a
similar thing and it shames me.”

“It’s all right, I don’t think you’re quite
as bad as rotting mud, maybe just normal mud,” Poison said in a
joking manner, making light of the serious apology Hetark had
offered to show him he was forgiven.

But Hetark was actually waiting for
Elizabeth’s forgiveness, he watched her
to see
how she felt.

Elizabeth spoke, “Hetark, your apology was
given like a true
knight;
however,
I think you owe the lady
a little more. Perhaps you should take Poison for a nice meal in
Myrnvale to demonstrate your sincerity.”

“As you wish, milady. Would you care to join
me for an evening meal tomorrow, Poison?” he asked the
black-clad
warrior.

Suddenly Poison was terrified. It was one
thing to talk about correct manners, but another to do it under the
eyes of
upper-class
people in a
real restaurant. “It’s not
necess
...” she started to answer.

Elizabeth interrupted her with a whisper,
“Go on, I have a dress you can wear;
besides,
there is that matter you agreed to handle.”

Poison remembered her promise, as Elizabeth
knew she would.

“Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you, Hetark,”
Poison replied.

Hetark nodded to her acceptance, he figured
anything was worth regaining Elizabeth’s approval.

And Elizabeth was pleased, she wanted Poison
and Hetark to like each other and this might lead to the beginning
of friendship. If Poison made the right choices the three of them
were going to be together for many years while she gathered the
forces necessary to displace the necromancer who sat on her son’s
throne. Elizabeth had grown to appreciate the untapped intellect
that Poison possessed. Her original plans for the lethal woman were
nearing completion, but now she had further plans for Poison in the
upcoming conflict. She just hoped that when the time came for
Poison to make a stand she chose the right path.

Elizabeth considered the future; once Hetark
and Poison had their dinner in Myrnvale, Poison could deliver the
message given to her by Elizabeth. Matters were about to get very
interesting.

The necromancer RIveK was brushing her long
red hair. She parted it in the middle and let it hang down on
either side of her face. The straight hanging hair covered up the
grotesque piece of missing skull on the left side of her head.

A servant knocked gently at RIveK’s
temporary chambers in SKartaQ’s Shadow Fortress.

RIveK gestured casually at the door and it
swung open at the command of her necromantic power.

“You may speak,” RIveK said, not bothering
to look at the lowly servant.

The young girl was terrified; she had only
been taken from her family two weeks before, so she wasn’t used to
seeing the dark powers of magic. Her eyes watched the door
fearfully thinking it possessed by some dark spirit.