A Dead God's Tear(54)

Marcius rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I think so. Who are the Blackguards?"

"They're one of many criminal gangs that make a living off the underbelly of Harcourt. There's a constant power struggle going on, though rumors say that someone has a hand in it all, for whatever purpose. Now, I think I've talked enough. We have to go if we are to save your lives."

"We?" Alicia chimed in, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes, we. You think I warned you for my health? You all look like an honest lot and you can't deny you owe me for saving you. This is an opportunity for me, and I'm not about to pass it up."

"What do you want from us? Money? Some sort of magical favor?" the Mage pursued ruthlessly.

Simon sighed, as if disappointed. "Nothing mundane like that. I want to travel with you three and write about it. It's the opportunity of a lifetime, and I-By Dryken's rule!" Simon cursed, his eyes focused on something outside of the window.

"What is it?" Jared asked. "I don't see anything."

"That's just the problem. There is nobody outside. This is Lowtown. When people disappear, something big is about to happen." Simon turned to the trio, his eyes fierce. "Are you with me? I can guarantee that you'll make it out alive, but only if you agree to take me with you."

Alicia looked like she was about to say something, but Jared beat her to it. "Yes, bard. If we make it out, you're more than welcome to accompany us."

Simon smiled, then reached behind the door and dropped a large brown sack at their feet. "Put those on and get ready to fight. Wait for my signal and hightail it out of here. I'll catch up to you all outside."

Jared picked up the bag, glancing inside. "How will we know what the signal is?"

The bard's face was stern, but his eyes danced with humor. "Oh, you'll know. Just be ready. Try to stay alive until then. It's hard to honor bargains when you're dead. Remember, when I say let's go, we go all out. I don't care what you are doing, just run."

The swordsman held out his hand and the two clasped wrists, sealing their agreement. "If we were that easy to kill, we wouldn't be here."

Simon nodded and walked out the room, closing the door behind him.

"What's in the bag?" Alicia asked, curiosity finally getting the one up on her indignation.

The blonde man rubbed the back of his head nervously as he handed the Mage the bag. "You're not going to like it."

Alicia's eyes widened as she peered in.

Jared was right.



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The solid leather heels of Simon's boots echoed through the dusty hallway, the calm stride doing little to reflect the turmoil that boiled beneath the bard's calm façade. This was it. The entire success of his crazy plan hinged on the outcome of the next few minutes.

He told them that they intended to recruit them. This wasn't exactly true. Capture, scavenge what they could, torture for whatever else they could get, then kill and dispose of the bodies was probably closer to the truth. Wizards and magic in general was considered too dangerous to keep around.

Every second passed in nerve-wracking agony, and yet, Simon found to his amazement, he had never felt as alive as he did now. It was exhilarating. An intoxicating drug more pure than any of the crazy weed one could buy off the dealers on the streets.

He continued down the hallway, reaching the end and coming to a stop before a rickety excuse for a door. Pulling out his ever trusty set of lock picks (bards did more than just sing, one never knew what you needed when you lived a life on the road,) he went to work on the lock for a brief second before the irony of what he was doing caught up to him.
     
 

     

There was little point in being subtle now. Pulling out the delicate instrument from the lock, he placed it carefully inside his pocket. Leaning back, he gave a strong kick to the door, the wood caving in for the briefest of moments before shattering in a dozen pieces. He picked his way gingerly through the self-made portal, continuing up the steep flight of stairs that continued on the other side.

Sunlight battled through a dirty window, the beam coming out as splotches of light through the grime and crust. The attic was dank and obviously had not seen much use, if Simon could judge by the thick layer of dust that coated everything in sight. He felt like an intruder to some hidden corner of the universe, his presence defiling the eerie silence of this untouched world.

That was fine. It wouldn't remain that way for long.

Humming a little tune, he grabbed the skeleton that passed for a chair in the one corner and smashed it against the floor. It broke easily. Picking up various pieces of it, he found two of similar size and length that suited his purpose and set them up, side by side, on the single table that stood in the center of the room.

It was now that he reached in his pack, pulling out a chalky white block and placing it on the pieces of wood, forming an impromptu bridge. The block, known as fire ash, was made from various chemicals, mixed by an alchemist and allowed to congeal and settle before being cut into blocks, such as the one he now held. It was typically used to fuel low simmering fires that one required to make exotic delicacies or as a catalyst for various other alchemical processes.

But Simon, due to his nature of being one who always kept an ear open for new information and ways to use said information, had happened upon one very peculiar property of the otherwise unexciting material. It was the only known product, besides the rare metal drykite, to have an innate resistance to the extremely corrosive liquid commonly referred to as demon's fire. Unlike drykite, demon's fire would eat through the fire ash, but not nearly at the instant speed it did most things.

Perfect for what Simon had in mind.

He reached carefully into the pouch on his side, extracting two vials. One was made from the rare metal drykite and held the very liquid that was on the forefront of Simon's mind: demon's fire. He set that container very carefully on the edge of the table before regarding the last, and perhaps most dangerous, vial.

It was a clear container, and the liquid inside was a rather indistinct color which belied the fact that inside the small innocent package was a raging inferno. This was called Dryken's Breath and Simon rolled his eyes at the naming conventions employed by alchemists desperate to add an aura of mystery to their methodical craft.

But it didn't stop the steady respect he gave this volatile liquid as he placed it carefully under the bridge of fire ash. He knew that the moment air hit it; everything in this room would go up in flame, a fiery hell on Faelon that would incinerate everything it touched.

In fact, he was counting on it.

Simon had been saving these two treasures for a rainy day, since the both of them were worth a fortune in the right circles. But something in the depths of his chest told him this was that moment, and he followed his gut. Some things were worth more than gold.

He twisted off the cap of the demon's fire vial with maddening carefulness, ignoring the sweat forming on his brow. One drop of the vial's liquid on his skin and it'd be a painful, though quick, death. Holding his breath, he dropped the entire contents of the vial onto the fire ash, watching as his efforts were rewarded with a wicked hiss. The dangerous substance smoked and bubbled, filling the air with an acrid scent that left Simon gagging.

Reining in his reaction, Simon made sure that the liquid would eat through the block and hit the Dryken's Breath. He gave himself about five minutes before all hell would break loose. More than enough time to get out of here, he hoped.

Taking a deep breath, the bard turned, running as if his life depended on getting away from there, because most likely it did. As he hit the bottom of the stairs, he heard the sounds of battle.

Undaunted, he continued running, the hissing behind him and the clanging metal in front of him only lending speed to his feet.



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"It's been a long time, Denician," the melodic feminine voice intoned, the words lingering, even as the willowy, ghostly, hands caressed the side of his face.

The Headmaster sighed, his breath coming out raggedly at the surge of emotions the figure in front of him induced. "Hello, Queen Selenthia. It is nice to see you are well."

The hands recoiled. "Come, my love, there is no need for such titles, even if time and circumstance has driven us apart," the ghost teased, with only a slight hint of reproach behind the words.

Though he would never admit, even after all these years, he still yearned for this woman, this elf, in front of him. She was communicating using a long distance scrying spell, so he was thankful that at least he didn't have to look at the features that he knew so well.

In his mind's eye he saw the long raven black hair that flowed like silk through his finger tips, pale perfect skin that resembled the gentle glow of the moonlight, and those knowing amethyst orbs that saw into the very depths of his being.

He ached for her.

He had just been an apprentice when she had entered his, until then, simple life. The Kingdom of Morlian was at peace with the elves of Selenthia at the time. So, at his master's prodding, he had traveled to study the extensive magical texts that the elves kept. And they welcomed him in the aloof, yet curious way that only people who live for many centuries could.

And it was where he fell in love with a young elven maiden with laughter in her eyes. It amazed him when it came to light that she returned his affection. It was a magical couple of years. He wanted nothing more than to wake up every day of his life with her in his arms.