A Lye for an Eye

[Jake Narmolanya]

Jake raced across the plateau, grass swishing beneath his boots, and delivered a swift overhead strike. His sword glanced off Breaker’s upraised blade of grass as if it were made of adamantine. The demigod shifted his hips in a barely perceptible movement, and suddenly Jake found himself thrown through the air and tumbling in the grass. He rolled to his feet, sword still gripped in both hands, blade steady.

“How do you slay a shadow?” Breaker asked. He advanced one way and then changed directions, so swiftly that Jake nearly lost his footing trying to defend. The blade of grass flashed out like chain lightning, threatening to sever Jake’s head. He barely brought his sword up in time to counter the stroke.

“How do you surprise an assassin who’s always ready?” The demigod crouched and spun fluidly, sweeping Jake’s legs out from under him. The half elf tried to tumble to his feet again, but found himself pinned by the weaponized blade of grass.

“I don’t bloody know,” Jake growled, struggling to escape, “that’s why I came to you.” He gathered his legs between them and kicked Cronen away, performing a reverse shoulder roll to his feet. The demigod grinned and circled, Y-shaped scars on his cheeks dimpling.

“How would you go about killing me?”

“I couldn’t.” Jake circled in the same direction as Breaker, guard high, muscles tensed.

“Supposing you needed to. Ulroké is no less dangerous.”

Jake feinted twice, failing to draw even a flicker of response from the demigod. “I suppose I’d come to you, asking for training. I’d stay with you a time, wait until you were distracted by something, and put an arrow in you. Then several more. And then chop you to bits, for good measure.”

The half elf attacked in a flurry of thrusts and slashes, throwing every trick he knew at his old teacher. The demigod parried Jake’s longsword each time, the blade of grass a whipping blur.

“But Ulroké is not an old friend. So think how you will approach him, and how you will bring him to his weakest moment. Only then will you be able to kill him.” Josh stopped the latest attack with a sweeping wrist-to-wrist block, and the force of the blow paralyzed Jake’s hand. He held onto the sword with his left and attempted to bash Cronen with the guard, which got him thrown neatly over the demigod’s reaping leg. Breaker disarmed the half elf like taking a toy from a toddler and shoved him toward the center of the plateau.

“You know how I’ll approach him,” Jake gasped, rubbing his throbbing wrist. “I’ll find out where he’s holed up, I’ll portal somewhere nearby, and I’ll work from there.”

“That is one of the many ways he and I differ,” Breaker warned, “he will be well protected.” The demigod tossed Jake’s mythril sword on the ground like a piece of firewood, and allowed the apparently ordinary blade of grass to waft away on the breeze. “You must portal directly to his inner sanctum, wherever that may be. And then you must fight him, and you must lose.

“You must give every appearance of having lost, but find a way to stay alive. When his confidence has overcome him… then you may be able to kill him.”

They trained until the sun had risen high in the sky. Sweat slicked Jake’s hair and clothing and his muscles burned, but Cronen seemed as fresh as when he’d arrived.

“I won’t ask you to help me kill him,” Jake said after sheathing his sword and catching his breath, “but will you help me find him?”

“I thought that was your specialty,” Breaker chuckled, rubbing his palms together, “intercontinental demon hunter that your are.”

“I haven’t any place to start,” Jake growled, slamming a fist into his palm, “I didn’t even know the man’s name before Amari told me.”

“I have little information on him,” Breaker said, spreading his palms, “but I have kept mind of one who may know more. His name is Flint Skovik. Rumors circulated among old channels that Ulroké was responsible for the death of Luned Bleddyn, and Skovik has been on the warpath ever since. If he hasn’t learned Ulroké’s location, he likely soon will. Perhaps you can offer your skills to his operation.” The demigod raised his eyebrows.

“Where can I find this Flint?” Jake asked, pacing to the edge of the plateau and gazing down at the curvature of the mountain, “I will do as you suggest. I have no other leads.”

“My sources put him in Ettermire… in a cavern beneath the Glaith River, of all places. Can you find it on your own?”

Jake nodded. “I know my way around Alerar,” he said, “and if I can’t, I know where to find people to ask.”

“Good,” Breaker replied, sitting in the center of the plateau and resuming his meditation, “I’ve got work to do.”

[Warpath]

Roxanna related the events of the last week to Flint for the second time, unbidden, and in great detail. He didn’t question her, didn’t ask if she was sure. Her loyalty and capabilities were never under suspicion. She bore the weight of that with pride, but she wished Flint would take her cautions to heart. He took too many risks at crucial junctions in his plans, as far as she was concerned. In a few moments, he’d do it again.

For now, though, Flint tapped one massive finger on a huge, detailed map of Ettermire. “The warehouse is upriver, here,” he said. “Flooded in the storms last month, unusable until the river recedes a bit more in the winter. It had a dry dock, if these blueprints are still accurate. The Hands will likely have a representative on the ground, under a show of guard, and reinforcements on the scaffolding above. It will be difficult to surround the structure without the Hands knowing, but impossible to prevent a majority of them from escaping when things don’t go their way in the fight. If we are not careful, we will come away from this empty-handed.”

Roxanna was about to respond when a figure in boiled leather hurried in, throwing back his hood. Neither Flint nor his lieutenant were angry at the interruption. No one in the organization would approach the underking without a good reason.

“Radek is bringing someone down,” the messenger said, his voice confident, quick, concise. “Picked up an armed man at the Hangnail asking around about Flint Skovik, knew something about the construction. Details sparse. The elevator is descending now.”

“I’ll come,” Flint said.

Roxanna growled, stepping to intercept him. “Let me go,” she said. “This close to the meeting with the Hands? Now? It’s a trap. He could be rigged up with gunpowder or…”

Flint almost smiled. Almost. “And Radek didn’t smell it? Even if so, who is more likely to survive it? You, or me? Come.”

Flint set off down the tunnels, lowering his head as he passed through the door frame, and Roxanna fell in on his right side. “We should cancel the ambush,” she said. “At least until the base is done and shored up.”

“No,” Flint said.

“They’ll show themselves again. We’ll find them eventually, regardless. Every day we reacquire pieces of Swanra’ann’s network. Someone knows where the assassins lay their heads…”

“We have the opportunity now,” Flint said. “I will seize it.”

Roxanna didn’t say more, as the pair had arrived in the vestibule. It was, like the rest of the base, unfinished. A pair of humming electric lamps were mounted to either side of the elevator shaft, and beams of sickly yellow light were aimed in on the oiled black machinery. The lights dimmed as the machinery shuddered to life, spitting out a cloud of sparks and pressured steam. Somewhere far, far above, Roxanna heard the screech of the brakes as the elevator began to drop down toward them.

The gears clanged rhythmically, the metallic song reverberating and echoing off the naked stone walls. Roxanna looked up at Flint. He watched the empty shaft impassively, crossing his tremendous arms over his chest. Armed elves began to filter into the room. They were off-duty members of the military police, young but capable recruits in need of a little extra cash. By day they guarded the true grahfs, by night they worked for the secret one. One by one they raised their rifles, sighting the empty shaft. Soon there was a semicircle of them, and twenty guns steadily aimed.

The elevator dropped into view and slowed with a whine as the brakes tightened. The car dropped into place with a heave, and then a mad spiderweb of chains began spinning, pulling the heavy metal door of the elevator open to reveal Radek, his gang of four, and a hooded-and-bound young man they pushed out in front of them.

Radek removed the hood without ceremony, revealing a blinking young face Flint did not recognize.