A Lye for an Eye

[Jake Narmolanya]

Jake did not dwell on the decision for long. On light feet he raced through the tunnels, slowing as he approached the room where they kept the prisoner. Two guards with rifles on their shoulders stood either side of the ironbound door. Jake strolled up nonchalantly and gave them a friendly nod.

“Pulled the night shift, eh?” He said. “Why don’t the two of you go get some shuteye? I can’t sleep anyways. Hand’s paining me.” He held up his bandaged limb with a slight wince. “I’ll keep watch over your post.”

The guards exchanged a short glance.

“Flint says two men on this door at all times,” the taller of the pair replied.

“Well, one of you can go then,” Jake said, waving a careless hand, “and you can switch out halfway through. Honestly, I’m going to be up all night anyway. It’s no worry.”

Another, longer glance was exchanged, and then the Alerarans engaged in a short but spirited round of a hand-game Jake had never seen before. Evidently the taller elf won, because the shorter one shouldered his rifle and grumbled while his partner thanked Jake and walked away.

Well, that’s one down. Jake thought. “Hey, look at this!” He said.

The remaining guard turned toward Jake. A portal opened up in front of them, its twin directly behind the Aleraran.

“Watch carefully,” Jake said, and leaped through the portal.

He landed on the guard’s back, grasping the rifle with both hands and squeezing the stock across the carotid artery. The elf struggled, but Jake tightened his grip like a python, and within eight seconds the guard slumped to the ground, unconscious. Jake rolled him on his side and then turned and raced back to Flint’s study.

It was still empty, and the strange contraption still sat on the desk for anyone to take. Jake filched it and flew back to the cell. The guard was still unconscious on the ground. No one had found him.

The half elf produced a pair of lockpicks and made short work of the heavy iron door, slipping through with the alchemical artifact tucked beneath his arm. Before closing the door he conjured an identical one in front of it, a camouflaged portal that led back to the rooftop where they’d captured the man.

Blood stained the harsh stone floor of the makeshift torture chamber. The assassin was manacled to the far wall, arms stretched high enough that he had to stand on the balls of his feet. Bruising covered his face, and more crimson marred what remained of his clothing. He looked up as Jake entered and smiled.

“Little matter what they cut off, master,” he chuckled. “I’ll never talk. Little matter, little matter, little matter…” his voice trailed off into a gibbering giggle.

Jake grimaced. Radek had broken the man in more than two pieces. He appeared to know where he was, and yet not quite understand. The half elf stalked across the room and seized a handful of the prisoner’s hair, slamming the man’s head against the wall.

“Tell me where to find your master,” he said, “or this will get very unpleasant for both of us.”

“Little matter, little matter, little matter,” the madman carried on.

“Right.” Jake grimaced. He shoved the nastier end of the Aleraran contraption over the assassin’s eye and affixed it in place with a combination of leather straps and steel clasps. “Right.” He repeated, taking a deep breath. Suddenly the fatigue of the past two days tugged at his bones. Was he thinking clearly? Perhaps this could wait…

No… remember your anger. It boiled up slowly, like magma beneath cracking earth. The loss of his friend Amari, and the horrific memories she’d shared with him, crystallized in his tired mind. It was all on Ulroké. What would I do for a chance to kill the bastard?

Jake braced himself, and then looked through the artifact’s lens.

The device seemed to sense that it had living eyes attached at either end. There was a gushing sound and a strong chemical smell, and the assassin screamed as something sprayed into his eye. The device hummed and vibrated with magical and mechanical integrity.

“Who’s in there?” A voice shouted from the hallway. “What’s going on?” Someone hammered on the portal-door Jake had placed in front of the real door. They could break that down, and it would only lead them to the warehouse rooftop. “Find Flint,” the voice commanded, and the pounding resumed.

[Jake Narmolanya]

The lens slid open, and the glass spike impaled Jake’s left eye. The half elf stifled a cry of pain and forced himself to stay in place. At first everything went black, but then fuzzy images started to flicker before him. He closed his right eye and focused on the soundless narrative.

The banging on the portal-door turned into a thunderous pounding. Flint had arrived. Beneath the brute’s fists the iron-bound door shattered, but he found himself blocked by the portal leading to the warehouse’s rooftop. With a roar the mountainous main pivoted and slammed a fist into the wall. Solid rock crumbled away, and he struck again, and again. His knuckles bled, but he took a moment’s respite and the wounds healed themselves, and then he laid back into the wall, sundering chunks of stone. One way or another, Flint was entering the room.

Jake was watching a slow reel of memories from the assassin’s early life. Being beaten up by brothers, yielding to an early life of violent crime, moving around Salvar and living like a vagrant. It was all pitiable enough, but Jake had no time for it. He concentrated on thoughts of the white-haired grandmaster assassin, Lichensith Ulroké. The slow reel became a blur and then paused and resumed at a regular pace.

He was in a room - a chamber hewn from the living rock that formed its walls. There was a large bed covered in thick furs, and thicker rugs covering the floors. The mounted heads of various Salvic beasts stared lifelessly down from the walls. Further away, armor glistened on a set of mannequins. Ulroké stood before him, glowing, speaking soundlessly. He was receiving praise in the master’s quarters.

Jake had seen the room before, in small glimpses, in memories Amari had shown him, whether intentionally or not. Only now, he had a solid mental image of it. Now, he could picture the details of the walls and ornamentation, of the rugs on the floor.

Now, he could portal to the lair of the beast.

The demon hunter groaned, pain spasming in his left eye socket as he pulled his head away from the device, leaving it strapped to the still-screaming assassin. Blood flowed down Jake’s face, absorbing partially into the bandage on the hand he pressed over it. He took two steps toward the door and lost his balance and sat down. He would practically need to re-learn how to move and fight, with only one eye.

Well worth it. Jake’s gut burned as if full of coals, the anger threatening to consume him. Seeing Ulroké’s face had awoken the rage. Temper it, he reminded himself, whet it, but do not use it until the time is right.

The wall shook with the force of Flint’s fists, and Jake saw pieces of it begin to crumble off.

Right. I’d best let them in.

Jake allowed the portal to dissipate, and Flint’s men poured into the room with the brute close behind. Some of them levelled rifles, while others merely watched to see what their leader would do. Skovik’s hazel eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he approached Jake, towering over the seated half elf in every respect.

The thief looked up with his good eye, and gave his best effort at a cheeky grin. He only managed a pained leer.

“Right, I know…” he quipped, “but if you kill me, I can’t portal you to Ulroké’s bedchamber.”

[Warpath]

As Jake let his chin drop and blood dribbled from the fresh hole in his head to the floor in front of him, Flint turned his fierce gaze to the still-screaming assassin. He could feel his knuckles snapping back into alignment, one by one, as he reached out and closed his hand around the alchemical device still strapped to the assassin’s head. He twisted it so the straps snapped free and then, with a little effort, he pulled the thing out of the man’s head. His screams faded into tongueless gibbering as freshets of blood ran down his cheek, and then his head lolled forward and he lost consciousness.

“Leave him,” Flint said at last, quietly, as the soldiers around them began to make motions to seize the half-elf. Flint was examining the device. “Tell the dwarves to repair the wall. Tell them I commend their work. You, return this to my cell.” He handed the device over to one of his soldiers.

As the soldiers cleared out of the room, Flint stepped between Jake and the chained assassin. The brute had his back to Jake, but the younger man raised his remaining eye to watch as the monster reached out with both hands. Flint’s back and shoulders flexed impressively outward as he squeezed his hands together on something in front of him. The assassin’s legs kicked feebly for the briefest moment amidst the wet sounds of crunching, crumbling bone, and then Flint shook the blood from both his hands. As he stepped away again, Jake could see that he had crushed the assassin’s skull to pulp between his palms.

“You did something...interesting,” Flint said at last, sighing. In stark contrast to his actions, his voice was soft. “I hope the cost proves worth it. Come on.”

Jake winced as Flint reached out and pulled him to his feet, holding him steady as the room wheeled sickeningly around them. He could feel the blood from Flint’s hand soaking into the material of his shirt at his upper back.

“Perhaps it’s best if you leave me out of this part of the story, when you’re relating it to Cronen.”

[Warpath]

Flint brought Jake to the chirurgeon-alchemist, a dark elf that sneered the second he laid eyes on the young man’s half-elf features. Still, he knew better than to complain or refuse the work. Jake slipped in and out of consciousness as the remains of his damaged eye were cleaned from the wound and the socket was packed with absorbent material and wrapped in gauze. Flint thought he bore the pain well. “Make him sleep,” Flint ordered, and a potion was produced.

Roxanna was furious when he handed the bloody device back to her some hours later. “You left it out on purpose!” she hissed. He only stared at her for a beat.

“When Radek wakes up,” he said after a moment, “send him up to buy an eye patch for Mister Narmolanya. You will do what you can to help him acclimate to his loss. No more painkillers. I need him sharp.”

Roxanna fumed, and then shook her head slightly. “For what?”

“Preparations,” Flint said. “We are going to assassinate the king of assassins.”

[Jake Narmolanya]

“Again.” Jake breathed.

The two Aleraran soldiers who'd agreed to train with him gave each other a sideways glance. They each gripped a light rapier, while the half elf clasped his crystal sword in both hands. He’d already disarmed and drubbed the dark elves nine different ways; they were breathing heavily and wore a fair selection of bumps and bruises. Jake still felt awkward and unbalanced with only one eye, though, and so he pushed them to continue.

He’d slept for a night and most of a day after receiving “treatment” from the so-called surgeon, and woken with a fire in his belly that would not be snuffed. He’d found some gruel to feed his body and immediately set about finding his new training partners.

They wouldn’t do. They came at him together, exploiting his blind side, but it didn’t matter. Jake slipped between them, the flat of his sword blade battering their legs and livers, and they fell to the floor again with matching groans.

Jake slashed the air in frustration and adjusted the black sifan eyepatch Radek had given him. His remaining green orb blazed furiously behind a curtain of shaggy hair.

“I’ve had it with this,” one soldier said as he helped his friend up. They both sheathed their blades. “We barely had any sword-training. Spent most of our time learning to clean and fire different weapons. Proper weapons,” he added, as he picked up the two rifles leaning against the stone wall and tossed one to his comrade.

Their shadows danced beneath the buzzing electric lights as they marched down the tunnel. Jake rose into a one-footed sword stance with his blade arching overhead, and then another, much larger shadow crossed the bright lights.

“How have you progressed?” Came the coarse voice of Flint Skovik.

“Not well enough,” Jake growled, meeting the mountainous man in the middle of the room. “Haven’t you got anyone who knows how to use a blade? Or that can move faster than my grandma, Thaynes bless her soul?”

“Well, there’s me.” Skovik said bluntly. He flexed his massive hands.

A long moment of tension lingered between the two warriors. Their eyes locked. Next to Skovik, Jake looked almost like a halfling.

“Right,” he said, “but you don’t have a sword. I need Breaker.”

“So go get him.”

“Do you know how long it took me to find him last time? I can’t just… actually, now that you mention it, he’s probably on the same plateau where I saw him last. What time is it in Corone, do you reckon? What time is it here, come to that? Nevermind, I’ll just take a quick peek.”

Jake focused for a moment, power flowing through his veins, and a door-shaped portal appeared in the air between him and Flint. Peering through, Jake could see sunlight on the long grass of the plateau. He could see Cronen, seated facing in the other direction.

“He’s there! Right, I’ll be back in some time. Don’t leave without me!” He joked, and then vanished through the portal.

[Jake Narmolanya]

The fresh mountain breeze teased Jake’s dirty blond locks, and tugged at his sweat stained clothing.

“I’m going to have to find a new place to meditate. I could smell you the moment you opened the portal,” Breaker said, “when was the last time you bathed? He stood and turned around, brow creasing as he saw the patch over Jake’s empty socket. “Did Skovik do that to you?”

“No,” Jake said, “I traded it. For a rather valuable memory.”

Breaker smiled at his former apprentice, the Y-shaped scars beneath his eyes dimpling. “You found a way to penetrate Ulroké’s inner sanctum.”

“Penetrate is right,” Jake said wryly, “I can portal straight to his bloody bedchamber.”

“Well done,” Breaker said, “it seems you and Flint make a fine team. Even if it did cost you can eye.”

“Well worth it.” Jake replied. “Only now-”

“You want me to train you to fight with half your sight. It may take longer than you have.”

Jake nodded, lifting the sword still clasped loosely in his right hand. “Let’s begin.”

“I did a little research of my own, on Ulroké.” Rather than pluck a blade of grass, Breaker crafted a curved dagger of ice in each hand. “I learned he favors short blades. He also commands a host of other abilities… but if you’re clever, you’ll find a way to make him fight you, sword to knife.”

“He has a protector,” Jake said. “My once-friend Amari. She commands ethereal serpents that pass through blades and armor to bite flesh. Can you teach me to fight them?”

Josh smiled and placed one palm atop the other. “Althanas exists on many planes,” he said, layering his hands again. “To teach you to navigate all of them would take far too long. But you might learn to strike at all of them simultaneously. You wield a great deal of power when you make portals, Jake. This will merely mean learning a new way of channeling it. Focus on the sword.”

Jake drew on the Eternal Tap, and rather than conjuring a portal or fire, merely attempted to express the energy into the sword. For a moment the crystal blade glowed, and then flames erupted from it. Jake nearly dropped the sword in surprise, but willed the fire away instead.

Breaker chuckled. “That was your arcane influence following a familiar path. Try again. Become one with the blade. Make it everywhere, and nowhere at once, as you are when you fight.”

The half elf narrowed his remaining eye and concentrated. The sword began to glow again, and he could feel power circulating between his body and the blade. He could sense that it had grown stronger, and that it reached… outward, and away.

“Good.” Breaker called. “Now see if you can catch the wind.”

A summoned gust knocked Jake off balance, and the demigod somersaulted through the air to land at his side, stabbing high and low with both icy daggers.

Jake leaned into the direction the gust had pushed him and performed a one-handed handspring of his own. As his body rotated his sword swung out like a lateral pendulum, forcing Cronen to stay at range.

“Good,” Cronen called again, and threw one of his daggers at Jake’s face. The half elf struck the projectile with his sword, shattering it into a thousand shards. “Well done,” the demigod grinned, conjuring a replacement dagger. “You’ve been practicing, since you lost the eye.”

“As best I could, with what was available.” Jake attacked this time, driving forward in a flurry of swift thrusts. Cronen evaded them with casual trunk movement, not bothering to bring his blades to bear. His hands remained at his waist as he backpedaled, bobbing and weaving, and then he spun suddenly and threw an arcing kick at Jake’s head.

The half elf could not see the kick coming - it was on his blind side - but he read the movement in Breaker’s body and countered with an upward swing of his glowing sword.

Clang! Jake turned his head in time to see his blade braced against Breaker’s metal boot, and then the demigod spun again and swept his legs from under him.

“With limited vision, you must learn to think more moves ahead,” Josh said, “every battle is a game of chess. Treat it as such.”

They trained for many hours, until Jake was covered in sweat and breathing hard, his empty socket throbbing painfully. He sheathed his sword as Breaker called a halt, and re-adjusted his eyepatch.

“Many thanks,” Jake said, bowing to his instructor. “I should be on my way back to Ettermire.”

“Hold there,” Josh said. He released the icy daggers he still carried, and they melted into a wave of warm water that swept over Jake, cleansing him from head to toe. It drew the sweat and dirt out of his clothing, and seemed to sponge fatigue and pain from his muscles and grave wound. “Now at least you won’t kill your allies with your scent.”

Jake laughed. “You and your sensitive nose.” He turned, and then paused, and pivoted back to face the demigod. Breaker raised an eyebrow. “Could I ask one more favour of you?”

“I suppose I could grant such a boon,” Josh grinned, “for a former student and old friend.”

“Tomorrow, if you could be on this plateau, meditating… just in case we need your help.”

“Haven’t you faith in Skovik and his people?”

“Some,” Jake said, lone green eye narrowing shrewdly, “but I’d feel better with the Breaker in my back pocket.”

Josh considered the request while the wind whipped between them. He nodded. “Tomorrow I will spend the day here. And if a portal appears, I will step through it, and assist you. But after that I will be leaving this place. Your frequent traveling alters the Tap’s energies.”

“Thank you,” Jake said again, and then he crafted a portal between them and ducked through it.