A Dead God's Tear(56)

A crackling light of energy sprung from the woman's finger tips, following the slicing motion she made with her fingers. Off went a man's hand and as the man opened his mouth to scream, the old man took the opening, silencing him with a back stroke of his sword.

Things started off badly, but they were quick to fill in the holes. One broke off to occupy the spell caster, forcing her to concentrate more on dodging than spellplay. Her quick cast ball of fire almost charred his face as he ducked. It impacted against the wall, igniting like a match to tinder. Smoke began to fill up the room.

Didn't the information say two mages? The last one was confirmed as the boy gestured with his hand, a solid pocket of air ramming into the one that approached him. The man let out a grunt and rocked back on his heels, but doggedly moved forward against the pain, his sword cutting trails above the boys head as the boy ducked and rolled.

The old man was now on the defensive, sorely pressed by two expert swordsmen who had worked together before. When one left an opening, the other was quick to fill it. Expertly they worked the man's defenses; high, low, from the side, the sound of three swords ringing together in terrible harmony.

Disguising his move with a risky attack that went up and over the man's sword to duck down and stab at his chest, the assassin reached into his tunic and whipped a knife at the old man. The wicked dagger stuck in the man's thigh and the man's defenses stuttered, allowing the two assassins to score minor blows.

Simon burst into the room, the bard's sword swinging madly at the closest assassin. It was clumsy and untrained, but the simple addition of another was enough to cause a respite for the beleaguered defenders.

The assassins took the betrayal in stride, splitting off to attack separately. Finish the wounded man quickly. It was an unspoken agreement between the pair.

The old crone's opponent was frustrated. Every time he thought he would hit her, his sword seemed to pass through nothing. How was she so old and yet so agile? He growled as his sword seemed to go through thin air yet again, though he was sure she was in reach.

No, he was letting his frustration get hold of him. Think. Assassins were heads and shoulders above mere grunts because they thought about their targets. They fought as much with their mind as their body and weapons. This time he did a measured lunge for her head, watching as his sword again passed through harmlessly.

And he saw. The outfit was a disguise. Her clothing and face were dirtied and hard to discern, but the skin at the base of her neck smooth and tight. Nothing like what an old woman would have. So they knew the attack was coming. His mind flickered to obvious betrayal of the bard. And somehow this mage, this witch, was making some spell to cause all his attacks to miss.

What would happen if he deliberately aimed wide? With a feral grin he swung his sword wildly and was rewarded with the split-second feeling of resistance as the edge nicked her arm. Well, it was a start. With his comrades pressing in and gradually tightening the noose on the others, things were very grim for his targets.

He did so enjoy his job.

"Alright guys, let's get out of here," The bard yelled over the din of battle. At his call the woman surged forward and grabbed the surprised assassin's sword, ignoring the deep cut it created on the inside of her hand. Yanking him forward and stepping inside his reach, she struck him dead in the chest with the flat of her hand. A noiseless shockwave echoed from the point of impact, knocking only the assassins to the ground, leaving her friends upright and completely unaffected.

Colors danced before the assassin's eyes, his ears rang, and the entire world turned upside down. He was fleetingly aware of hitting the ground and the sound of feet echoing away from him. Damn it! They were getting away. He had never failed the organization. He was considered one of the best!

The assassin gritted his teeth against the pain as he forced himself to stand up, the rest of his team doing the same. He grunted with effort, coughing as he willed his legs to move forward. Every step was agonizing, pinpricks of fire erupting along his body, and it was only through sheer determination that he crossed to the door.

He had just reached the door when he saw his teammate flying at him. His eyes widened in fear as realization dawned on him. His teammate wasn't jumping; he was being thrown, picked up by a massive explosion that washed over them before they even had time to scream.



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"Take it slow. Remember, don't draw suspicion," Simon hissed under his breath as they took yet another turn down some dark alleyway.

"Where are we going?" Marcius asked.

"Don't worry about it. I told you three I'd get you out of the city, and I shall."

"There is one tiny problem," Alicia said, clutching the dirty brown dress closer to her arm as the gash she received continued to bleed. The wind was picking up, a precursor to a large incoming storm. "Jared's hurt. We have to stop and treat the wounds."

Marcius glanced at Jared with concern. A bright red stain was creeping its way down his friend's leg, matching the one that blossomed on Alicia's arm and hand.

There was a brief moment where Marcius could see the bard debating with himself, but in the end, Simon nodded reluctantly. "Alright, dress it as fast as possible. We don't have the time for anything beyond making sure you two don't bleed to death. Those cuts will be the least of your worries if the Blackguards capture us, and I'd rather not get caught outside in this weather if I can help it."

The relief on Jared's face was obvious as he slumped against the wall, sliding down to a sitting position in front of Alicia. The mage tore off a strip of her sleeve, wrapping it around the wound with little gentleness. "Oh, stop squirming. Not like your leg got cut off," she admonished with mock sternness.

Marcius noticed that the bandage was quick to darken with blood. Guilt seeped into the edges of his thoughts. If he hadn't had blurted out who they were in the tavern while he was drunk, Jared wouldn't have gotten hurt. If had been a bit better with magic, perhaps he would have been able to help his friend out more.

"Marcius, it is not your fault," Jared whispered, startling Marcius out of his thoughts.

"How'd you know what I was thinking about?" Marcius asked, finding the toes of his boots very interesting.

"Come on, I've known you for how many years? You're not very good at hiding your thoughts. Plus, you've always been the type to blame yourself for everything. Remember that time when you were a kid and your father got sick from saving you after you fell into the ocean? You sulked for weeks over it."

Marcius chuckled for a moment at the memory, but his face fell again at the thought of his father. Another person that he had failed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I can't help but feel that this is entirely my fault."

"Probably because it is your fault. Blabbering that we were wizards and all," Alicia said.

"Stop it," Jared was quick to interject before a stunned Marcius could respond. "We get nowhere by pointing fingers at each other. Let's just concentrate on what to do next and be grateful we are all alive still."

Yes, Marc. I agree with Jared. It is best for us to look at the positives. Everyone is alive and we are continuing our journey toward the Academy. Faerill intoned from the rooftops, it could have been far worse.

With a grimace, Jared pushed himself up, using the wall for support. With one final glare of warning at Alicia, he turned to Simon. "Well, my priestly bard savior, care to lead the way?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Simon said, quickly assuming a pace that had the others scrambling to keep up. The flight through the twisting maze of endless alleyways had begun again. "Be happy that we managed to escape with only a few scratches."

"So, where are we going?" Jared wheezed, echoing Marcius's earlier question.

Simon looked up at the sky for a moment. "We are going to a friend's place. He's a trader I know that owes me a big favor. I already set up a ride out of Harcourt with him. Right under the noses of the witless guards that are likely to be paid off by the Blackguards to look for us. From there, we can travel to Yaeren, a little coastal town that is a stop for a lot of ships that go to Arian. We can probably hitch a ride all the north from there. The town is too small to be worth the effort for the Blackguards to have a lot of contacts in. So, with a bit of luck, we'll get away without any repercussions."

"Repercussions?" Alicia asked, disapproval evident in her voice.

"Aye. Their reach is lengthy and with this little stunt, we basically slapped them in the face, insulted their mothers, and made off with their daughters in one single stroke. We made them look like idiots. They aren't going to just take that lying down. No doubt they are scrambling to lockdown the city to prevent our escape while trying to spin what just happened into a benefit for them."

"Great," The mage, well versed in the backstabbing politics of the Academy, muttered under her breath. "Let's just hope that you are wrong."

"I'm not, but I can say one thing," Simon said with a grim smile, "it was a spectacular way to say goodbye. They'll be talking about this for years."



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Smoke seeped out from the rubble that was once the Black Rose tavern. The explosion left a nice sized crater that leveled the rickety establishment to the ground. For the first time in years, the Lowtown district was still. No street waifs looking for an easy handout searched through the remains, no curious bystanders loitered about. Lowtown was a place of survival, and opportunity was not something easily given up, but one didn't live long without knowing when to look the other way.