Marked (29 page)

Without making the slightest noise, the Assassin disappeared from the edge of the roof with a flash of red—as if by magic—and appeared above the guard who was peering in his direction and about to discover him. Astounded, Iruki watched as the guard fell backward at the precise moment the Assassin materialized out of nowhere before his very eyes, thunderstruck by the same astonishing sight. Not waiting for him to get back up, the Assassin attacked, slitting his throat with two deadly black daggers. He silently dragged the guard out of sight, hiding the body in one of the lookout towers to their left.

Incredible... he cannot be human...
How could the Assassin have effortlessly propelled himself over the gap between the two buildings—without even taking a running start—and taken out the guard in the blink of an eye? Fear swept over her like a bitter winter wind when she realized that the Assassin was already on the other wall and could leave her there to fend for herself. She tried to remain calm, to push that thought from her mind and instead start thinking about how she could get over to him. The jump was risky; it was a wide distance to clear and she probably wouldn’t make it.

But if she stayed there, she’d be dead.

The Assassin crouched down and motioned for her to run and jump toward him.

She had no choice. Jump or die. Iruki didn’t need to think twice. She would jump.

Silently, carefully, she backed up to get the longest running start she could, then got herself ready.

The Assassin signaled to her to wait. Another guard was approaching the wall on her left. Iruki crouched down again and saw the Assassin quickly open the door of the tower and disappear inside. After a brief moment, just as the guard was walking past the door, it flew open and a black hand grabbed the surprised sentinel by the mouth and pulled him inside the tower. A second later the Assassin reappeared and signaled for her to jump.

Iruki took a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves. She was petrified, and it had her shaking like she had the yellow fever of the steppes. Though she was convinced she could not clear the distance in one jump, she knew if she didn’t try, the fate awaiting her would be much worse than death. They would torture her. Rape her. And with that horrifying thought, she started running as fast as her legs would carry her. When she got to the edge of the roof, she jumped with all the strength her young, agile body could muster... spurred on by terror... knowing a perilous death awaited.

Iruki flew.

She flew above that dark void for a few brief moments, her arms fully extended, reaching out for the wall.

But in spite of the immense effort she had put into her leap, Iruki did not quite make it to the other wall. Her body slammed against the hard rock; her outstretched hands landed three inches below the ledge of the wall.

So this was how it would end. Just as her hopes of living plummeted, so would she plummet to the rocky ground.

But suddenly, like a strong gust of wind, an iron-tough hand swept down and grabbed the wrist of her still-outstretched arm. And that hand had saved her from falling.

Iruki looked up into the eyes of the Assassin. They were closed, as if he were concentrating. She saw him muttering words in a foreign language, then saw a small reddish glimmer over the dark warrior’s body. As if she were as light as a feather, he easily lifted her by her outstretched arm. In a split second she was up on the wall, next to her savior. She breathed deeply to shake off the fear, suspecting dark magic must have been used. And if it wasn’t, at the very least it wasn’t natural.
For the love of the interminable steppes! That man is possessed by a spirit! He is no ordinary man.

“Thank you. I owe you my life.” She looked into the man’s strange eyes. Like a glass of ice water to the face, she was again caught by surprise.

His eyes were... slanted!

It left her speechless. Iruki never had seen eyes like those before. This man—this Assassin—was a foreigner. From some land far, far away; part of a race with which she was not at all familiar. She had never even heard anyone mention people like this. Was he from the Far East, perhaps? Iruki did not know for sure, but he definitely was not from the lands of the West.

“You do not owe me anything. I want nothing from you. Follow me in silence and try not to get yourself killed.”

His response was not terribly reassuring, but Iruki made no comment. Still on the second wall, they started moving again. Iruki assumed they were heading for the first wall—the farthest one out—to make their escape. They stealthily crept along for a while and finally stopped a short distance from one of the three identical wooden drawbridges that connected the two sections of the eastern wall. Two sentinels were patrolling the bridge closest to them, walking slowly and methodically from one end to the other.

It would not be easy to get to the first wall.

Her mysterious savior gestured that she should not move. Iruki stayed hidden in the shadows as she watched the Assassin advance toward the bridge, moving like he was floating. And since the watchmen were walking north and he was behind them at the south end, they did not see him. When the Assassin made it to the bridge, he jumped—hurling himself head-first over the edge. Iruki gasped in fear; her partner in escape was hanging off one side of the bridge. Her heart in her throat, Iruki saw that the sentinels had turned and were heading toward him.

They’ll see him; they have torches! They’ll cast their light on him.

And before her eyes, the Assassin mysteriously disappeared, totally melting into the blackness of the night.

It can’t be. He’s gone!

When Iruki saw that the lookouts had come to the spot from which the Assassin had vanished she held her breath. Suddenly, a shadow shot out toward the two guards from the exact place where the Assassin had been, knocking them both to the ground. Two black daggers swept over their bodies and, in an instant, both had lost their lives. The Assassin had expertly slit their throats. 

Iruki could not believe her eyes. No man could be that agile, that strong, that deadly. His movements were inhuman. Diabolical. It was as if he were possessed.

The bridge was clear. The two quickly crossed over to the exterior wall and headed for a large, circular, roofless tower built into the wall. The tower faced the moat that marked the outer limit of the great fortress. This was the tower from which they would descend into the moat. But one last challenge lay before them: the two sentinels posted there. Pressed against the wall, the Assassin signaled for her to stop. He continued on.

He moved to within just a few steps of the two guards with a stealthiness that rivaled death itself. A brief red glimmer shone over his body and, after hesitating a few seconds—as if waiting for the right moment—he shot out like an arrow toward the two unsuspecting soldiers, a cheetah from the steppes on the hunt for two unwary gazelles. Using the handle of the dagger, he attacked the first man with a strong, sweeping blow to the temple, just below his helmet. It left him completely stunned. The other guard spun around, shocked to find himself in the midst of an attack. The Assassin dealt him a head-butt that broke his nose. Before the sentinel could defend himself, the Assassin cut his throat. And before the guard’s lifeless body even touched the ground, the Assassin had swung the dagger upward and thrust it into the chin of the still-stunned soldier.

Both died without making a sound.

Iruki approached the tower and saw the Assassin lowering the rope he’d been carrying.
It’s too short to make it down from this height. These walls are at least three times as high as the length of that rope.
The Assassin started lowering himself down the wall, and Iruki followed. But just as she had suspected, the Assassin got to the end of the rope and still had two-thirds of the distance to go to make it to the ground. He looked at her for a split second, winked, and somersaulted backwards into the void.

Without thinking twice, she followed him.

It was a long fall, long enough for terror to completely consume her. She was falling—flying—and almost before she could even formulate a thought she hit the moat’s icy water. That terrible, freezing, feet-first impact was a shock to her system. She frantically fought her way back up to the surface of the glacially cold water, desperately searching for air. She swam with every ounce of strength she had until her head broke through the water and she was finally able to breathe. Shaking her aching head, she filled her lungs with the precious oxygen.

Alive! I am alive!

She swam to the shore where the Assassin was huddled, waiting for her. With no time to recuperate from the incredible jump she had just survived, she got out of the water and followed him, crawling off in silence.

Her teeth were chattering.

Her extremities were trembling.

From behind her came the sound of the guards shouting; they had heard the escapees’ plunge into the water and were sounding the alarm.

The two made it to a group of trees after creeping along the edge of some rocks. Iruki was astounded to discover two magnificent steeds there, saddled and waiting. The Assassin mounted and pointed at the other horse. The people of the steppes did not use saddles so she had some difficulty climbing on, but was soon riding at a gallop, following the Assassin.

She rode up next to him. “Where are we going?”

“South,” came his abrupt response.

“But to the south there is nothing but the Utla River. We won’t be able to cross it. They’ll catch us.”

“Do not worry, Masig. Our escape is arranged. A boat is waiting to take us to the other side of the river—to your peoples’ lands. Soon you will be free.”

Iruki could not believe her good fortune. She was fleeing from a fate worse than death; a fate of slavery, rape, and desolation.

A fate that undoubtedly would have led her to take her own life.

And this mysterious Assassin had saved her.

She would not forget that.

Ever.

Komir watched as Kayti and Hartz carefully crossed the adjacent room of the underground Ilenian temple beneath the great Egia Lighthouse. The room was even larger and more beautiful than the one they had just left behind after their confrontation with the lion-headed guards. Awed by the immensity of the resplendent stone room, Komir lost himself in the expanse of the vaulted ceiling.

Like tiny, insignificant ants amidst the majesty of the impressive chamber, the four adventurers strolled in silent admiration. The pure alabaster walls before them were decorated with golden Ilenian symbols. Sitting on the floor and resting against each of the long walls were three enormous white urns adorned with unintelligible runes. Above each of the six vessels was the face of a dying human with cat-like eyes that stared blankly into all eternity. Their mouths were twisted into horrible, hideous expressions.

“What the hell are those heads hanging on the wall above the urns?” Hartz asked, pointing.

“Damned if I know,” replied Komir. “I’ve never seen anything like them. They look like the heads of men who were tortured, and the eyes are really strange.”

“They’re like cat eyes—I’d guess panther eyes, or mountain lion,” said Kayti.

“So what do they represent? Why they are hanging there? We certainly don’t have anything like that in our mountains,” grumbled Hartz, noticeably uncomfortable.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but those are not an encouraging sign,” commented the priest. “I’ve read several ancient books about nightmares and other ephemeral suffering represented like that—with faces contorted in pain and anguish. If I’m remembering correctly, they were in the Rilentor library. They made quite an impression on me.”

“Library? What’s that? Is it where you keep books?” asked Hartz, as if the word was either foreign to him or he thought he may have heard it somewhere before but wasn’t sure what it meant.

The priest looked at him in disbelief. “Yes, that’s right. Do you not have libraries where you live? Where do you keep tomes and parchments filled with knowledge?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hartz and Komir looked at one another for a moment and then burst out laughing. Their laughter resonated through the great room, as if a wind of life were sweeping across the somber atmosphere of the chamber.

“No, Father, we Norriel do not have libraries,” replied Komir, still laughing.

“I don’t think we have parchments either,” said Hartz, and again the two broke into guffaws.

“So you
are
Norriel, eh? I assumed that, but I wasn’t sure. From what I can tell, much of what they say about your tribe is true.”

“And it’s all good, I’m sure,” said Hartz.

“The way you fight—being as young as you are—is proof that you come from the highlands. As for the rest, less respectable traits... I don’t need to mention those...” the priest of the Light replied, smiling broadly.

Komir began to examine one of the tormented faces more closely. There was a nagging sense of unease eating away at him. Looking around anxiously, peering into the shadows, he tried to make out any hidden dangers. He found nothing.

They cautiously moved forward between two parallel rows of massive, circular pillars that ran from one end of the room to the other and rose up to meet the towering ceiling. In the middle of the chamber was a steep marble staircase that led up to a circular platform. Looming over the center of the platform, a translucent statue of a macabre being—worthy of the worst nightmares—completed the eerie scene.

Each of the four companions stared transfixed at the ghostly statue whose face, only partially visible beneath a hooded cape, wore an expression of agonizing, horrific pain. Just looking at it struck terror in Komir’s heart; he tried to shake off the intense feeling of trepidation.

A sinister figure—a man—was looking down on them from beside the terrifying statue on the platform. His body was completely covered in a long white tunic with golden edging. In his right hand he wielded an unusual crook; in his left hand, a thick tome with a golden cover. Hidden beneath a white hood, his face was not visible but his eyes—those strange, inhuman eyes—shone through the shadows with an intense golden glow that made their blood run cold. 

The mysterious being raised the staff over his head and murmured something unintelligible. Behind them, the access to the room sealed with a thud.

Hartz grabbed for the hilt of his sword as he looked at the door. “I am not liking the looks of this...”

“We do not wish to cause you any harm,” Komir declared, doing his best to sound calm. “Who are you? And what is this place?”

Again the hooded figure recited a series of incomprehensible words that sounded like a mournful chant.

Suddenly the ethereal statue’s eyes began to secrete a golden liquid, giving the appearance that the anguished face was crying melted gold. The strange fluid flowed down the ephemeral body and onto the floor of the platform. Flowing through the four grooves carved into the base, the liquid reached the four alabaster walls of the great room.

And they came to life.

The Ilenian symbols etched into the walls began to shine brightly.

A stream of sweat ran down Komir’s back.

The runes on the white urns shone intensely now and began to give off a strange fog. The contorted human faces with the feline eyes seemed to foresee what was about to happen, their twisted expressions a prelude to the nightmare about to commence. The thick fog coming from the urns slid down toward the floor, slowly covering the entire space.

“Uh-oh,” lamented Hartz.

“I don’t like this at all,” agreed Komir.

As the fog completely engulfed them, their fear quickly turned to terror. The statue, also encased in the magical mist, began to shake. The four travelers, astonished by what was happening before their eyes, watched incredulously as the effigy came to life, feeding off the volatile substance the urns were emitting. As the sculpture awoke from its eternal nightmare and began moving stiffly, it let out a terrifying howl that turned Komir’s stomach inside out. Then it looked at its master with that agonized expression, and the evil-looking figure in the white tunic motioned with its staff toward Komir and the others.

“What... is happening?” Kayti asked, her voice shaking with fear.

“I am afraid we are in the presence of a mage whose mission must be to safeguard this temple from intruders and looters,” said the priest timidly.

“And what about that unfriendly looking thing?” Hartz pointed at the newly awakened specter. 

“It must be a guard that the mage called into service, just as he did with the lion-head guardians. I am afraid it is probably dangerous—very dangerous. Its goal is undoubtedly to put an end to us for invading its temple.” The priest’s voice was also shaking now.

Komir could see that the ghostly being represented a much greater threat than the mutant guardians they had destroyed in the outer room. Seeing it come down from the platform with that horrifying face and those eyes imbued with that golden substance, Komir’s stomach was turning. He was frightened.

“By the sun and the moon! Let’s get ready to fight!” commanded Komir. “Leave your lances and use your swords. We’ll use the same tactic as before; we’ll have to try to decapitate it. If it worked then maybe it will work now, too,” he suggested to his companions, fighting hard to maintain his composure.

“All right, aim for its throat,” confirmed Kayti.

“Father, you stay behind, back here in the corner. Stay hidden, and if it comes near you, scream and we’ll come help you,” said Hartz. The priest took the two torches and headed toward the right corner of the room, fighting to see something through the banks of fog that with each passing moment were thickening and about to completely encase them. 

“Let’s get into a semicircle with the walls behind us. I don’t know what to expect from this thing, so it’s better for us to stay together.

“Shoulder to shoulder?” asked Hartz.

“Yes, exactly. I don’t like this fog; we are much better off together—that will at least give us a fighting chance. I’ll take the right sight; you take the left, Hartz. And Kayti, you take the middle. Don’t move forward, don’t break formation; we have to maintain the semicircle at all times.”

“All right,” agreed Kayti, “though I’m not at all convinced this plan will work. Unfortunately, I don’t have a better idea to propose at this point. Since the two of you have more experience than I do, I’ll do whatever you say.”

Hartz patted her on the back. “Relax, woman. When have we ever failed you? We’re all still alive, right? Don’t worry, this will work,” he reassured her with a smile.

Komir unsheathed his sword and hunting knife and tried to get himself focused so he could face their hideous-looking foe. Hartz took out a long dagger he’d been carrying on the back of his belt and handed it to Kayti.

“Just in case...” he winked, smiling and doing his best to convey confidence and calmness.

She nodded and returned his smile, trying to mask her fear of their current predicament—though at that moment, the expression on her face betrayed her.

“Well, at least this time the mess we’re in wasn’t my fault,” Hartz joked lightheartedly.

Komir looked at him and smiled, shaking his head.

The intrepid group waited in position. Absolutely still. Spellbound. Exhaling the icy tension that filled the distance between them and the ghostly specter. Before their eyes, it was gliding across the floor, never making contact with it, suspended in the arcane fog as it slowly approached them. When it was no more than a few steps from the group it let out a doleful howl that chilled all four to the bone, each one now well aware that they had made a grave mistake when they’d disturbed the eternal rest of that dreadful guardian.

The creature was now directly in front of the group.

Komir slashed through the surrounding fog, attempting to strike a fierce blow at its gruesome face. But much to his surprise, his sword passed straight through the incorporeal head with no effect.

“What the hell... ?” was all he managed to mutter before the ghostly guard touched him with its translucent hand. All the terror, the agony, the suffering the tortured face conveyed were instantly transferred to Komir. Screaming in pain, Komir’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor, feeling as if his life were vanishing by the second, devoured by the guard’s diabolical touch.

“Help him!” shouted the priest, wildly waving the torches.

Hartz leaped into action, shoving his friend out of deadly reach of the spectral guard.

Seeing her companions in trouble, Kayti stepped in to help. But her sword also passed directly through the ghost’s head, causing no harm.

“It has no substance, so it’s immune to our weapons... There’s no way we can beat it!” exclaimed Kayti, terrified.

Still trembling on the floor, Komir cursed the excruciating pain. Never had he imagined he would have to face something like this. That nightmarish monster had just about taken his life, nearly destroying him with despair and horror.

The specter let out another hair-raising howl. They all quickly covered their ears, the unbearable sound nearly piercing their eardrums. The ghostly spirit then swept over the fog and hurled itself at Kayti, who moved quickly to one side, narrowly avoiding the ghastly creature’s intangible—but deadly—touch.

“Don’t let it touch you! Contact with that thing means a horrifying death!” Komir warned his friends as Hartz helped him struggle to his feet.

“It’s as if it’s sailing through the fog; like it’s carried along by it,” noted the priest.

“What should we do?” asked Komir, a heightened desperation in his voice as he rolled across the floor to once again escape the hellish guardian’s clutches.

“I don’t know!” shouted the priest frantically. “This fog is not just fog; it’s like it exudes some kind of ether. I can’t understand it.”

Kayti hurried over to the priest. “Give me a torch, Father. Maybe fire will kill it!”

“I’ll distract it!” Brandishing his sword, Hartz ran toward the beast, screaming at the top of his lungs.

The ethereal being stopped chasing Komir and looked at Hartz. It let out another howl and then headed straight for him. Komir collapsed on the floor, exhausted. The guardian’s touch had drained every drop of his strength.

Hartz dealt the ghostly creature two useless blows that passed straight through it, then had to run in circles to avoid its touch.

Kayti took advantage of the Norriel’s impromptu distraction and headed for the guard’s back, hoping to set fire to it. But the fire had no effect on it, either—other than to cause it to let out another terrifying howl and then chase after her.

“For Our Lady Zurine’s sake! It’s immune to fire!” she exclaimed.

“And to steel!” added Hartz.

“Yes, but it doesn’t seem to have liked the fire... Wait! I have an idea. What if we throw water at it?” suggested the priest.

“Water? Have you completely lost your mind, brother?” protested Hartz.

Just then, the guard caught Kayti who, weighed down by her armor, could not get out of the way in time. The redhead felt absolute anguish and despair invading her body; an endless suffering that reached into her very soul. She fell face down on the cold floor as the fog whirled menacingly around her body.