That Horrible Moment Chapter 8
Pursuit
By Donraj
They all heaved a sigh of
relief (except for Alberto and Katoi) as they emerged from the forest. Ellis
shielded her eyes against the sudden glare. The sun was blinding after the
gloom of the woods, and it took awhile for their eyes to adjust to the bright
afternoon light. Ellis’ did first, and she squinted to make out the
carts and wagons that crowded the road ahead, all headed to or from the markets
of Dorter. She turned to the
others.
“We should arrive within
a couple of hours. We need to come up with a plan for when we get
there.”
“I’ll come with
you to meet this Tiran,” Rosa said. “If he is their target, or
their ally, you shouldn’t go
alone.”
“What about Gilliam?”
Ellis asked. “Alberto, you said you know a
healer?”
The mage
nodded.
“I’ll accompany
the two of them to see this person, after that we can all rendezvous,”
Hanlon
said
“There’s just one
problem with that,” Gilliam
interjected.
“What’s that?”
Hanlon
asked.
Gilliam looked at Katoi
meaningfully. “How many goblins do you suppose there are walking the
streets of Dorter?” he asked
dryly.
Hanlon looked embarrassed.
“Oops.”
“We can sneak him in
and rent a room somewhere in the slums. You stay there with him. We’ll
met up
there.”
Hanlon hesitated, then nodded.
“Very
well.”
*********************************************************************************
Lanal, recently bathed and
wearing a fresh set of fashionable clothes, was beginning to feel like himself
again as he walked through the doors of the ‘Juravis’s Eggs.’
He waved off the doorman’s offer to take his cloak, saying that he would
only be there a short time. He sighed happily as he looked around the upscale
restaurant. This was where he belonged, not slogging across some muddy
battlefield or sulking through a forest. He ignored the fact that his clothes
were stolen and his parents had raised pigs for a living. This was his
place.
He spotted Tiran at a table
by one of the windows, looking over some papers as he ate. Lanal stalked
towards him like a cat, slipping into a chair across from him with barely
a noise. Tiran jumped in surprise when he looked up and saw Lanal sitting
there.
“W-What in blazes are
you doing here?!” he demanded. “What happened to the
wagons?”
Lanal adopted a weary expression.
“We were attacked. The plan backfired, almost everyone was slaughtered.
I barely escaped with my
life.”
Tiran looked as if he had
been punched in the gut. So much had been riding on that plan, and for it
to
fail…
“How?” he
asked.
Lanal lowered his voice.
“You were right, there is a traitor. One bit of good news has come about
from this though. I know who he
is.”
“Who?” Tiran
demanded.
Lanal looked about nervously.
“We should not speak of this where we can be overheard so easily. Is
there a more private place we could move
to?”
“I have a private booth
in the back,” Tiran said as he rose.
“Come.”
“As you command, my
lord,” Lanal said
politely.
*********************************************************************************
Gilliam looked around in
amazement as Alberto led him into the cluttered shop. He had thought his
travels (and especially his dealings with the unpredictable wizard) had inured
him to bizarre things, but he still found himself gawking like the artifacts
that filled the place like a peasant at a stage magician’s
tricks.
It took several seconds for
him to notice the old crone sitting at the counter. Her small, fragile figure
was almost lost amid the chaotic array that surrounded her. Alberto was standing
next to her, and the two were conversing in a low tone of voice. Gilliam,
not wanting to leave Alberto unattended, hobbled over, his walking stick
banging against the wooden floor. He gasped softly at the stabbing pain in
his side, but he forced himself to ignore it. He had managed to march all
the way here, and although he was turning a bit pale he hadn’t collapsed
yet. The crone turned her surprisingly bright eyes towards him as he reached
the counter and leaned against it for
support.
“So, you’re wanting
old Meroe to look him over,” the sorceress said, enjoying the charade.
“Well, come on in back, the light in here ain’t good enough for
me old
eyes.”
Back bent, she hobbled over
to the shelf behind her and triggered the hidden door. As a section of the
wall slid open, she hobbled inside, muttering under her breath all the while.
She paused for a moment to look back at
them.
“Come on, I’m not
getting any
younger!”
Once he was inside, Gilliam
was again stunned by the marvels haphazardly scattered across the room. He
looked around the chamber in awe until a female voice, completely unlike
the old crone’s, caught his
attention.
“Well, lie
down!”
He turned towards Meroe to
see a beautiful young woman wearing an exotic dress standing in her
place.
Before he could ask the obvious
question, she pushed the gaping Gilliam towards a mat by the
wall.
“Lie down,” she
insisted, nearly shoving the startled Gilliam onto his back. She was much
stronger then her small build would have suggested. Once he sat down, she
tapped her foot
impatiently.
“Shirt
off.”
Gilliam, embarrassed to undress
in front of the strange young woman, reluctantly complied. Forcing him flat
on his back, Meroe crouched beside him and examined him
intently.
Carefully, she peeled off
the makeshift bandages. Blood had seeped into the material, and they stuck
to his body, but she managed to remove them without reopening the
wounds.
After about a minute of
examination, she looked up to
Alberto.
“I can fix
him.”
She turned back to
Gilliam.
“This is going to sting
a
bit.”
“What’s going to
sting
a…”
As he spoke, Meroe slid her
hands across his arm and side, coming to a rest atop his injuries. He started
to blush, but his response was cut off as he heard her
chanting.
“What are you…?
Aiiieeee!”
A shriek of pain erupted
from Gilliam’s throat, cutting off his question. An electric surge of
energy shot through his body, sending pain jolting through every nerve. He
arched his back in agony as waves of the energy pulsed through his body,
screaming like a prisoner on a torture
rack.
An eternity later, it stopped.
He collapsed, gasping in relief. Meroe rose and turned to
Alberto.
“He should be alright.
The wounds are completely healed; they shouldn’t give him any more
trouble.”
Alberto looked at
Gilliam.
“He looks half-dead,”
he observed with some
authority.
Meroe shrugged
sprightly.
“He’ll get over
it.”
Alberto thought about it,
then shrugged as
well.
“So, what do I owe
you?”
Meroe shook her
head.
“I still owe you for
the eggs, let’s call it
even.”
Alberto nodded
thankfully.
“Can I move him
yet?”
“You should probably
give him a few more minutes. So, what happened to
him?”
Alberto related the story
of the bandit ambush, including his duel with Chell. Meroe listened intently,
her eyes going wide at some points. When Alberto finished, she exclaimed,
“I knew that book was
trouble!”
A groan from Gilliam signaled
that he was beginning to
recover.
“Time to go,” Alberto
said. “People to
kill.”
Meroe nodded. “Come
by once this is done, I want to hear how it turns out.” Giving him a
quick kiss on the cheek, she sprang
off.
Alberto stood there in surprise
for a moment, then picked up Gilliam. As the dizzy swordsman leaned on his
shoulder for support, Alberto led him out, thinking about Meroe’s words.
Maybe he
would…
*********************************************************************************
Ellis caught Rosa’s
arm as they entered the street that held “The Juravis’s Eggs,”
where (she hoped) Tiran
awaited.
“Wait here,” she
explained. “Watch the door in case I miss
them.”
Rosa hesitated for a moment,
then nodded reluctantly. Walking to a bench across the street from the upscale
restaurant, she took a seat, careful to keep her cloak draped over her
sword.
Taking a deep breath, Ellis
walked purposely to the door. Unlike the last time she had come here, Ellis
had not taken the time to try to dress as if she belonged, or to clean the
trail dust from her clothes and body. Her trusty longbow was slung comfortably
over her shoulder, and the familiar weight did wonders for her
confidence.
As she walked in, looking
every inch the lower class adventurer that she was, Olan’s eyebrows
shot up. Before he could shout for her to be removed from the premises, Ellis
slid forward, crossing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.
Throwing her arms out wide, she seized him in what appeared to be a fond
embrace.
Olan felt something sharp
sting him in the crotch. He looked down to see that Ellis had a small dagger
in her hand and pressed against his
groin.
“If you so much as glance
at your thugs,” Ellis said in a low, pleasant voice, “I’ll
cut your balls off.
Understand?”
Turning pale, Olan
nodded.
“Good,” Ellis said.
“Now, is Tiran
in?”
“Y-Yes, in his private
booth in the
back.”
“Wonderful. Now, you
are going to show me
there.”
Ellis released Olan from
her embrace and seized Olan’s left arm in a viselike grip in one deft
movement. Repositioning the dagger against his ribs, she pressed against
him to shield the weapon from view. To a causal onlooker, it would appear
that Olan was being a gentleman and escorting her in. She prodded him none
too gently. They walked in
together.
Several of the wealthy patrons
looked at her sweat-stained traveler’s clothing and dirty face with
surprise and contempt, but with Olan’s arm looped around her own no
one objected. Once they reached Tiran’s booth, she looked him square
in the eye before releasing him.
“Remember, even if you
call your guards, I will get
you.”
Ellis was surprised that
the sound of Olan’s gulp didn’t draw the other patrons’
attention.
Letting him go, she raised
her hand, smiling mockingly. Fear and disgust warring in his eyes, Olan lifted
it and kissed it. Spinning on his feet, he stormed off. Grinning, Ellis let
him go and slipped into the curtained
booth.
*********************************************************************************
Nervous fear shot through
Lanal’s body as he saw Ellis enter the dining room. How had she known
where to find him? Mentally, he cursed himself for the time he had wasted
grooming himself and obtaining clean clothing rather then immediately taking
care of the
job.
He had been stepping out
of Tiran’s booth when she entered. Springing into action, he fell in
step behind a passing waiter, letting the servant’s body hide him from
Ellis’s line of sight. When the waiter began to turn, Lanal faked a
stumble, falling into a crouch next to a table occupied by a wealthy merchant
and his women. He apologized quietly, sheepishly blaming poorly made pair
of new shoes. A few seconds later, Ellis walked by the other side of the
table, less then six feet away from him. Breathing a silent sigh of relief,
he watched her enter Tiran’s
booth.
Lanal smiled as an idea hit
him. Standing, he adopted a shocked, horrified expression (made all the more
believable by the fear Ellis’s unexpected appearance had inspired in
him). Carefully keeping his cloak wrapped around his body, he waited until
Olan moved away and then shouted
loudly.
“Murder! Master Tiran
has been
murdered!”
*********************************************************************************
Ellis began speaking as she
entered Tiran’s booth, hoping she was not interrupting anything
important.
“I’m sorry to barge
in unannounced, but I have important
information…”
Ellis stopped talking when
she saw that Tiran was
dead.
It was a grisly sight. His
throat had been slashed open, and blood had soaked his clothes and sprayed
the table and the walls of the booth. Over a dozen stab wounds covered his
torso, as if the killer’s rage had not been satisfied by the first,
fatal wound. His dead eyes were still wide with horror, and a rag had been
shoved into his mouth to prevent him from
screaming.
As the horrified Ellis took
in the grisly scene, she heard Lanal’s
shout.
“Murder! Master Tiran
has been
murdered!”
*********************************************************************************
As they left Meroe’s
shop, Gilliam shook of Alberto’s support and tried to walk on his own.
He wobbled for a moment, but was able to gain his balance and remain upright.
Matching Alberto’s pace, he gave the wizard a sidelong
glance.
“Who,” he asked,
“was
that?”
Alberto shrugged. “Eh,
a lady I did some business with, I’d only met her
once.”
Gilliam glared at his companion.
“And you trusted her to heal me?” he asked incredulously, still
remembering the agonizing pain of the
experience.
“You are healed,
correct?” Alberto replied
reasonably.
He was right, Gilliam knew.
His injuries had vanished without a trace, healed without leaving so much
as a scar behind. He could move without a twinge of pain or stiffness. Realizing
that he had no grounds to complain did little to improve Gilliam’s
disposition, but he did drop the
subject.
As they approached the seedy
inn where Hanlon and Katoi waited, Gilliam spotted something on the roof
of the ramshackle building. A large figure covered head to toe with heavy
metal armor and holding a long spear stood atop it. Even as Gilliam watched,
it leapt a dozen feet and a full story to the next
building.
Gilliam had never seen the
bandit leader before, but from the description his companions had given him
he knew that this could only be
Drake.
Gilliam grabbed Alberto by
the elbow and pointed the fast-moving dragoon out as he moved from building
to building, then sprinted off after him. Alberto began to lag behind after
several minutes, but the athletic Gilliam kept up the
pace.
The chase led from the slums
where Gilliam had first spotted the dragoon to the clean streets and fashionable
houses of one of the upper-class neighborhoods. This was the home of the
lower rungs of polite society, populated by minor nobles and wealthy merchants.
Gilliam was lucky enough
avoid the constables that patrolled the area on the lookout for the peasant
riffraff he resembled. Finally, Drake leapt the wall of one of the mansions,
landing in the
courtyard.
Gilliam came to a halt as
he tried to decide his next move, wondering how he could continue his pursuit.
Something about the place nagged at him, something disturbingly familiar.
He stared at the mansion, wondering what it was. Then it hit him, and his
eyes widened with
shock.
He knew this
place…
*********************************************************************************
Atris Saryas yawned as he
leaned back in his comfortable chair, arms stretching. His stiff joints popped
as he did so, drawing a grimace from the fifty-two year old man. Straightening,
he gathered up the financial papers he had been reviewing and placed them
back in their portfolio. He gulped the last of his cider (he never drank
alcohol, an odd trait for a nobleman) and rose, his aged body sore from
inactivity. He turned towards the door to the sitting room. It was almost
time for his midday meal, and his coach would be arriving
soon.
“”We need to
talk.”
Atris whirled towards the
door when he heard the menacing voice, instinctively falling into a fighting
stance. His eyes darted to the sword hanging over the fireplace for a moment,
then back to the intruder. He gasped as he saw Drake’s imposing form
standing in the
doorway.
He quickly recovered his
presence of
mind.
“What are you doing
here?” he dared to snap. “If you are seen here, our
arrangement…”
“That is not my
concern,” Drake said, cutting him off. “Our deal is over; find
someone else to harass your rivals’
shipping.”
Atris was
stunned.
“Why?” he asked,
his voice calm again. “Our partnership has served us both well, you’re
bandits have had easy pickings. What is the meaning of
this?”
“Circumstances have
changed,” Drake explained flatly. “We met with unexpected resistance
on our last outing. Our numbers are depleted, and our identities known. I
have decided to cease operations for the time
being.”
Atris stroked his short white
beard thoughtfully, then nodded.
“I see. Am I
implicated?”
“No. There is no reason
for anyone to suspect a connection between
us.”
That probably meant that
Drake was not here to kill him, Atris
realized.
“Very well then,”
Atris said. “When this blows
over…”
An explosion outside cut
off the rest of Atris’
reply.
*********************************************************************************
Rosa perked up as she heard
the shouting from within. She slid her hand under her cloak and around the
hilt of her sword. As she watched, the bulky doormen left their post and
went ran inside. She heard the clamor of tables being overturned and chairs
smashed, the unmistakable sounds of a
brawl.
If that wasn’t a signal
for her to act, nothing
was.
She dashed for the abandoned
entrance, unsheathing her sword as she ran. A red-haired man in a green cloak
came charging out, slamming into her at full tilt. She struggled to keep
her balance, falling into a fighting stance in case the man attacked her.
He bowed politely and apologized repeatedly, but Rosa ignored him and charged
in.
Lanal watched her go, then
sheathed the dagger he had subtly drawn. Pulling his cloak around him, he
ran off,
unopposed.
*********************************************************************************
Ellis knew she was in
trouble.
She wondered how Lanal had
managed to pull a fast one on her, then shook her head as she dismissed the
wasted thought. Throwing her cloak back, she produced her bow and nocked
an arrow. Catching a glimpse of Lanal as he fled, she sent a shaft after
him. It missed him by inches, thudding into the heavy wooden
door.
The arrow had the effect
of panicking most of the restaurant’s patrons. Demonstrating that nothing
in the world runs as quickly as a frightened rich man, they stampeded out,
overturning tables in their frenzied rush. The human tidal wave effectively
cut Ellis off from Lanal’s escape route, making it impossible for her
to follow. She grit her teeth in
frustration.
The mob also stymied the
passage of the establishment’s bouncers, who were forced to shove their
way against the frightened crowd. Ellis nocked another arrow, aiming at the
bouncers. The unarmed men, who had been hired to deal with beggars and vagrants,
turned and joined the fleeing
customers.
Within a few minutes the
dining room was emptied and Rosa was able to make her way in. Ellis walked
up to her and grabbed her by the
shoulders.
“A red-haired man in
a green cloak just ran out. Did you stop
him?”
Rosa, realizing just who
she had ran into, winced as she realized that she had let the assassin escape.
Wordlessly, she shook her
head.
Her fists clenched so tightly
around her bow that her knuckles turned white, Ellis trembled with impotent
rage. Lanal had been so close, but once again he had gotten away. After a
few seconds she looked up to
Rosa.
“Let’s get out
of here,” she
whispered.
*********************************************************************************
Gilliam’s guts froze
into a chunk of ice as he realized where his chase had taken him. This was
his family’s mansion. He had been born here, grown up here, and he had
never expected to come here
again.
He stood there, spellbound,
staring at the place until Alberto caught up with him, breaking the trance.
As the wizard panted, Gilliam grabbed him by the shoulder and pointed at
the painted brick wall around the
house.
“Blow that
up.”
Alberto never needed to hear
that order twice. In less then a minute a section of the wall was blasted
to rubble. Not even waiting for the stones to cool, Gilliam sprinted into
the manor, leaving Alberto behind once more. He did not know why Drake had
come here, but he mean to find
out!
Gilliam tore across the courtyard
and into the mansion, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as he did. He
ran through the house, head whipping back and forth as he strained for some
sign of Drake’s whereabouts. He spotted Evans; the venerable man who
had been his family’s head butler for longer then Gilliam had been alive.
Gilliam ran to him and seized him by the
lapels.
“Where is my father?”
he demanded, guessing that if anyone knew what was going on it would be him.
Evans’ eyes went
wide.
“Master Gilliam,
you’re alive! We heard
reports…”
Gilliam shook him roughly,
having no time for
explanations.
“Where is he?”
he asked
forcefully.
“Master Atris is in
the sitting room, going over some documents,” the butler said obediently.
Gilliam, remembering that the person he was manhandling had changed his diapers
as a baby, released his grip. Looking away with shame, he dashed up the stairs
to his father’s reading
room.
When he got there he almost
kicked the door down before realizing that it was ajar. Atris and Drake both
turned in surprise to regard the intruder, and it was a toss-up whether it
was father or son who was more
shocked.
Gilliam’s eyes darted
back and forth between the dragoon and his father. He took in their apparently
friendly postures, and in one horrible moment everything clicked together
in a sickening
realization.
“Father,” he said
softly, “do you know this
man?”
“Son,
I…”
Drake watched the scene unfold
with calculating eyes. He quickly realized that this must be one of the survivors
of the merchant band. He had no idea how the man had tracked him here, but
knew that he had to act quickly. Hefting his spear, Drake charged the distracted
man. Stopping with his body turned sidewise to Gilliam, he twisted forward
as he stabbed at him to add momentum to the
thrust.
Gilliam drew his sword by
reflex, catching the spear in a parry near the weapon’s head. Drake
forced the weapons down until they nearly scrapped the floor. Stepping forward,
Drake smashed his booted foot onto Gilliam’s sword, snapping the weapon
in half. As Gilliam stared at the broken blade in shock, Drake thrust in
again. Gilliam twisted awkwardly, barely avoiding impalement. Drake swept
his spear low, knocking Gilliam’s feet out from under
him
A war cry from behind drew
Drake’s attention away from the helpless Gilliam. He spun to see Atris
charging him. He had taken his sword off of the mantle and held it clasped
between his aged hands. Atris darted forward in a fencing maneuver, trying
to thrust the sword’s point into Drake’s throat. Drake spun his
spear in a pinwheel, knocking the sword out of Atris’ hands. Reversing
the spear’s momentum, Drake drove it through Atris’
ribs.
The old man gasped, looking
at his former ally in shock. He turned his gaze away from the terrible iron
mask to see his son still alive and regaining his feet. He started to smile.
Drake noticed the
expression.
“I will kill him as
well,” he whispered. Atris’ eyes went wide with horror, then his
body went limp. Drake ripped his spear free, sending blood spraying. He turned
back to Gilliam, towering over the kneeling man. He raised his spear once
more for the
kill.
Alberto charged in. Pointing
his rod at Drake, he babbled an arcane chant. An azure blast of electricity
erupted from the rod. Drake hurled himself to the side with less then a second
to spare. The lightning blasted a hole clear through to the first floor.
Drake, knowing better then to fight a wizard in such close quarters, crouched
to jump. He caught Gilliam’s
eyes.
“So your friend saved
you,” he spat. “Tell me, is it a blessing or a
curse?”
That said, he leapt, smashing
through the room’s large window. Glass shards went flying everywhere,
and with that, Drake was gone, leaving only suffering
behind.
*********************************************************************************
Evans’ head jerked towards
the upstairs room as he heard the commotion there. He stood at the foot of
the stairs, mentally debating whether he should go up alone or fetch the
house guards. Finally, he heard a heart-wrenching scream echo through the
house. It was a scream of infinite
sorrow.
After several moments, it
stopped. Collecting himself, Evans forced himself to start up the stairs.
Before he went more then a few steps, the door flung open. Gilliam walked
out, a naked sword clutched downwards in his right hand. Evans recognized
it as the one that had sat on the wall Master Atris’ office.
Gilliam’s face was
unreadable as solid stone. His eyes were red, but dry. The hand that held
the sword trembled slightly in repressed emotion. Evans started to ask what
had happened, but before he could Gilliam met his
eyes.
“Call for a priest.
My father is dead,” he said
mechanically.
Gilliam walked past him,
heading for the door. Evans gathered his
nerve.
“Where are you
going?”
Gilliam stopped and turned
to regard him, an animalistic rage distorting his
features.
“I’m going to kill
the man that did
it.”
Gilliam walked out. No one
tried to stop
him.
*********************************************************************************
It was a silent group that
met in the small room they had rented in the slums that evening. Gilliam
simply sat there, mentally replaying the scene over and over, trying to find
a way he would have changed it. Ellis seethed with anger over Lanal’s
escape, and Rosa stood off to the side, ashamed of herself for allowing him
to flee. Hanlon was silent, and Katoi seemed to recognize his captors’
desire for quiet. Even Alberto, sensing the atmosphere, had left, saying
that he had business to attend
to.
Finally, Ellis
spoke.
“Rosa and I are now
wanted for killing a
nobleman.”
Gilliam raised his head and
looked at
her.”
“So am
I.”
After a long, uncomfortable
silence, Rosa spoke.
“What do we do
now?”
Gilliam rose, a dark fire
in his
eyes.
“We go to their hideout.
And we kill
them.”
He looked at the two women.
“Any
objections?”
There were none.