The Ascent (Book 2) (19 page)

"I am happy to call you my brother," Eamon replied. "I believe fate brought us together for a reason."

Jadhav nodded, releasing Eamon's hand. "My men and I will depart immediately," he said. "There is no need for us to wait. We will meet the Jindala ships before they land on the west coast."

"Excellent," Eamon said. "I have no doubt your fleet will make short work of them."

"Neither do I," Jadhav replied, laughing. "The Jindala have no sea legs. None at all."

"I will send Titus with you," Eamon offered. "He can be your eyes."

"There is no need. Send him where you need him most. Perhaps he can be of help in Gaellos, or as a spy in Faerbane."

Eamon nodded again, accepting Jadhav's advice. Perhaps sending Titus to Faerbane was a good idea. The machine could get a first hand view of the Enkhatar when they land. Such a glimpse would give Eamon and his knights a better idea of what they were dealing with.

"Agreed," Eamon said. "I will let my knights remain at rest for a few more hours. Then, we will ride for Argan."

"Good luck to you, my friend," Jadhav replied. "And may the Great Mother watch over you."

The two men clasped hands again, strengthening the bond they had made, and the oath they had sworn.

"May she watch over us all." Eamon said.

"So, what's the plan?" Twyla asked Garret as the two of them crouched in the brush near Jax's pub.

"I didn't really have a plan," Garret replied. "I was just going to kill the guards and be on my way."

"No plan, eh?" Twyla mocked. "That's always smart. I suppose I should just walk in and start servin' ale, then?"

Garret grinned, picturing the look on the faces of the Jindala, and those of her regular customers. "That would be amusing, but, no."

"Then what?"

Garret thought for a moment. It had been a day since he was here last, but the one thing that stuck with him was the conversation he had with Hargis, and the reason he had been outside in the first place.

"Unless I miss my guess," Garret said. "Hargis will be outside to relieve himself any time now."

Twyla chuckled. "Aye," she said, her eyes seeming affectionate at the thought of the sloppy older man. "Hargis is a bucket of piss with a hole in it if I ever saw one."

Garret grinned again. He had to admit, despite her crude personality, he liked the young woman. She was the perfect example of the plain, hard-working, everyday person that Siobhan so adored. She was not a mask in a rich gown. Twyla was real. She was what Siobhan wanted to protect. And Garret as well.

"When Hargis comes out," Garret said, "go to him and keep him out of the way. I don't want to see him get hurt."

"Aye," Twyla replied. "I'll keep him safe."

The two of them waited in the brush, keeping their eyes on the door. The morning was humid, and the mist was a good cover, but the moisture that gathered on the ground would make for a slippery fight. Garret would have to enter the inn and kill the guards inside.

As predicted, Hargis stumbled through the door, already drunk despite the early hour.

"Is he always drunk?" Garret asked.

"Not always," Twyla replied. "Sometimes he's asleep."

When Hargis reached the tree line, Garret urged Twyla forward. "Go," he said. "Be quiet, and keep him hidden."

Twyla bolted across the path. Garret watched as she pulled Hargis into the weeds, and heard his expression of joy upon seeing her. When the two were hidden Garret calmly walked around the deck and up the steps, his hands gripping his daggers. He was a black shadow in the mist, and death was his purpose.

The pub was dark inside, lit only by the morning sun that came through the windows. Jax was behind the bar, washing mugs and small whiskey glasses from the night before. He did not whistle as usual, as his mind was occupied by the unusual aggression the Jindala guards had displayed lately. Their relief had never arrived last night, either, making the situation even worse. Jax himself was already at a loss since the Jindala leader had taken his daughter, and he found it hard to work under such a heavy burden.

Nevertheless, he continued on as best he could.

Hargis had just gone outside to relieve himself when the dark stranger came in. He was tall, slim, and dressed in all black. A hood was draped over his head, making his face visible only from the mouth down. From the looks of the man's gray beard, he was older, yet still maintained a demeanor that indicated to Jax that this was a warrior.

Jax watched the man as he slowly approached the bar and quietly took a seat. Without lowering his hood, the man spoke.

"I am Scorpion," he said. "And your daughter is safe. Say nothing and don't react. Give me a mug of ale and go about your business."

Jax was speechless, and froze briefly at the news of his daughter. He then cleared his head, reaching down to grab a mug as the stranger had instructed. He filled the mug with frothy ale from the keg and set it in front of the stranger who called himself Scorpion.

"Thank you, sir," the stranger said.

Jax nodded, turning to continue washing his mugs.

Garret raised the mug to his lips, tasting the cool liquid as it flowed into his thirsty mouth. It was high quality ale, nutty in flavor, and with the perfect amount of fermentation. He swallowed, enjoying the sensation of the excellent ale going down.

"Is this your recipe?" he asked.

"Aye," Jax replied, never turning from his glass washing.

"When I finish," Garret began, "I am going upstairs. Which room or rooms do the Jindala occupy?"

Jax swallowed. "Turn right at the top of the stairs, last door at the end of the hall. They bunk together."

With a quick guzzle, Garret drained the mug completely, gently setting it down on the bar. He then stood, cracking his knuckles.

"Twyla is outside with Hargis," he said. "You should join them."

Jax nodded, turning to exit the pub. Garret glanced around; taking note of the layout in case he needed to escape. The wooden planks that made up the walls were faded and gray, but sturdy. Each window was skillfully installed, and there were two exits. The back door appeared to be locked.

Silently, Garret ascended the stairs, drawing his daggers and pulling back his hood slightly. The upstairs was dark, and laden with shadows. On either side of the hallway were three doors, with a single door at the very end of the hall. He walked down the hallway without making a sound. Halfway through, he realized that he had forgotten to ask Jax if there were any other patrons present. He sighed at his forgetfulness, but remained hopeful that Jax would have warned him if anyone else were staying in one of the other rooms.

He approached the door, lightly turning the handle. It was locked, as was expected. From inside, he heard the foreign tongue of the Jindala guards as they loudly bantered. He crouched in front of the door, setting his daggers aside and drawing his lockpick from his cloak. The lock appeared somewhat modern, but simple. As he inserted the pick into the cylinder, he found only three pins inside. He pressed on each one, hearing them click into place in turn. He then withdrew the pick and turned the handle again.

Success.

Garret replaced his lockpick and picked up his daggers again, gently pushing open the door. Inside, the guards were crouched in a circle, casting dice and tossing coins in a pile on the floor. The beds and tables had been moved against the walls to make room for their game, and dirty plates, clothing, and empty mugs littered the floor. From the layout, Garret decided that his sword was the best option for winning this fight. He quietly sheathed his daggers, drawing his katana as one of the guards looked up and spotted him.

As the guard jumped up, the others joined him, spinning and drawing their swords in surprise. They all stood frozen as they saw Garret's dark, shadowy figure in the doorway. Without warning, he charged, slashing with an inward arc and spinning away. The guard blocked his attack, knocking his katana away with the scimitar he wielded. Garret's spin placed him at the guard's flank. He kicked to the side, catching the guard in the hip and knocking him back. He immediately attacked the next guard with a backhand slash, disarming his opponent.

Garret punched with his other hand, catching the disarmed guard in the jaw. He then attacked with a double-handed slash, disemboweling the guard. The other two guards attacked simultaneously, coordinating their strikes in an alternating pattern. Garret parried one attack after another, dodging and spinning to the side to attempt to flank at least one of them. The guard he had kicked joined the fray again, attacking in his own pattern. Garret parried his attacks as well; kicking him again in the chest and slicing him open as he fell back.

The remaining two guards continued their tandem strategy. Garret spun around them, dashing out the door and down the hallway. The guards followed, being careful not to get too close to the fleeing assassin. Garret spied the banister that led down the stairway. Grabbing his katana with his right hand, he grabbed the knob at the banister's top and leapt sideways. He gripped tightly as he spun around, over the railing, and landed behind the running guards. He slashed with his katana, slicing open one of the guard's throats as he landed in a full crouch. The remaining guard tumbled down the stairs, his scimitar bouncing down along with him.

The guard landed with a thud at the bottom, curling up into a ball as he realized his hip and right arm were broken. Garret calmly walked down the stairs, his eyes locked with the guard's in a deadly stare as he approached. The guard began pleading in his own tongue, the fear quite obvious on his pathetic face. Garret stopped at his feet, glancing down at him with a blank stare. The guard breathed heavily, gasping with the pain of his broken bones. He rolled onto to his back, closing his eyes and preparing for the inevitable.

"Do you speak my language?" Garret asked.

The guard hesitantly opened his eyes, nodding and sulking. "Yes..." he said, desperately.

"Whom do you serve?"

"The Lifegiver," the guard replied. "When I die, he will reward me in the afterlife."

Garret chuckled. "For a man who is about to be rewarded," he said, "You seem quite frightened."

"There is pain in death," the guard explained. "And fear. When you die, you will be afraid as well. And you will suffer."

"Are you speaking prophetically?" Garret mocked him. "Or are you just guessing?"

The guard smiled through his gritted teeth. "He who kills will be killed eventually," he said.

"Interesting," Garret replied. "Thank you for the advice."

He sent the guard to his reward quickly.

Twyla, Hargis, and Jax watched as Garret emerged from the pub. His hood was down, his sword sheathed, and his demeanor was calm and collected as usual. He approached the three of them, stoically nodding with a slight grin. Jax stepped forward, offering his hand in friendship. Garret took it.

"Thank you, sir," Jax said. "Thank you for returning my daughter to me safe and sound. I am forever in your debt."

"You can repay me by moving on," Garret replied. "Go somewhere else until it is safe to return."

"Where?" Jax asked, shaking his head.

"Any of the cities in the Northern Kingdom will welcome you," Garret replied. "Travel along the west coast, and avoid any of the cities in the south."

Jax nodded, turning to Twyla to allow her to speak. She strode up to Garret, placing her arms around him and kissing him on the lips.

"You are a true hero," she said. "A strange one, but a hero nonetheless. Thank you, and if ya ever find yourself around here again, be sure to find me. I'll take care of whatever ails ya."

"Thank you, Twyla," Garret replied.

Twyla turned away. Garret locked eyes with Hargis, who hiccupped and drooled a little through his somewhat toothy grin. "Yer a good one, ye are," he stammered. "Come back this way again, but don't be sneakin' up on me."

"Take care, Hargis."

Garret turned back to the path, taking the trail east once more. He hoped that one day he would see Twyla again. She was a joy to be around, and her presence brought back the feelings and freedom of his youth. She was a jewel in his eyes, and she was exactly why he was fighting this battle; for her and everyone like her.

His next stop would be Faerbane, and his target; Queen Maebh. He shuddered at the thought of his mission, but took pride in the lives he had changed along the way. Despite its morbid ending, his mission had so far been productive, and his reputation as the deadliest assassin on the islands was still intact.

He was back. He was free. He was Scorpion once again.

Chapter Eleven

Meabh stood in the mist surrounded by her armed guards at the end of Faerbane's main pier. She was dressed in her red, formal gown, with black silk gloves, a black and red headdress, and a black sash sent to her by the Prophet. It was embroidered with the astral symbols of the Lifegiver, and her excitement at finally having the chance to wear it was obvious in her smirk.

In the distance, a Jindala frigate was anchored at sea, and a smaller vessel had been dispatched. Onboard the large ship, a host of dark creatures was imprisoned, awaiting their release in various places around the island. Maebh smiled at the thought of the fear that the creatures would inspire. It was a fear that would ensure the strictest of obedience from her subjects.

As she watched the bay, her smile grew more prominent as the skiff that carried the Prophet and her entourage neared the docks. It was black and ghostly, with golden trim, and red silk sails. Onboard, Maebh could see the large, covered
sedia
upon which the Prophet sat, shielded from the elements with layers of linen blinds. Standing on either side of her enclosure were the Ka'ha'di, the Prophet's disciples. They were six in number, and identical in appearance; bald, with pointed crowns of gold with attached lower face plates, red linen gowns with golden belts, and charms of lapis lazuli.

The most prominent feature of the small vessel, however, was the presence of two hulking, dark figures that flanked either side of the Prophet's enclosure. They were the Enkhatar. They stood tall and menacingly behind each line of Ka'ha'di, their black plate armor seeming to absorb the dim sunlight around them. Maebh could almost feel the darkness that their very presence brought to her city. They were evil incarnate; darkness embodied and packed into black iron shells of dark matter. They were the resurrected and defiled remains of Khem's greatest warriors, brought back to unlife by the Lifegiver himself.

"Stand fast," Maebh commanded her soldiers. "The Prophet arrives."

The soldiers stood motionless, frozen by fear of the unknown menace that approached the docks. Even the skiff itself was frightening to them. The Jindala guards, however, were familiar with the Prophet and her minions. But there were those among them that still felt the negative aura of her presence. These were the unworthy; those that the Prophet could sense. Those that the Enkhatar would feed upon.

Maebh took a deep breath as the skiff finally neared. Her dock masters tossed lines into the boat as it dropped anchor. They pulled it closer to provide the smallest possible gap so as to not inconvenience the Prophet or her company. When the boat was secure, they stepped back, gladly ducking away from the Prophet's presence.

The Enkhatar walked forward around the Ka'ha'di, moving to the front of the enclosure to draw aside the curtains. From out of the shaded interior, the Prophet stepped into the sunlight. She was dressed in a black gown, with a macabre designed headdress that resembled the blackened skull of some long dead reptilian species. Its spine became her neck piece, which was wrapped around her shoulders, and went straight down between breasts to her golden belt. She was bald like her priestesses, and the makeup around her eyes was drawn in the shape of the all seeing Eye of Absu.

As she stepped toward the edge of the boat, the Enkhatar took her hands to support her as the crossed onto the dock. They followed close behind her, even closer than her priestesses, and their chilling presence could be felt in the entire marina.

"Welcome back, Mother," Maebh greeted her. The Prophet stepped forward, offering Maebh her hand to grasp and kiss. Maebh did so with zeal, tasting her mother's sweetly defiled skin on her eager lips.

"Maebh, my darling," the Prophet replied. "It has been so long since I laid eyes upon you. My own eyes."

The Prophet stepped closer, raising her hand to touch Maebh's face, tracing her finger around her uncorrupted skin. "You have been keeping up with your magic, I see," she said. "You look not a day older than twenty."

Maebh smiled, grateful for the compliment. Indeed, her mother had kept her youthful appearance as well, having practiced her dark magic for hundreds of years before meeting the King.

"And you as well," Maebh said.

The Ka'ha'di accompanied the Prophet now, standing up close on either side of her. They did not seem to be bothered by the Enkhatar. Strangely, they seemed to feed off of their presence, breathing deeply and seemingly in ecstasy. Maebh eyed them approvingly, feeling a kinship with them that she had never felt with her own peers.

"Where is this son of yours," the Prophet asked.

"Eogan is hunting," Maebh replied. "You will meet him when he returns. He wanted to give you a special gift when you arrived."

The Prophet smiled with delight. "Very well," she said, approvingly. "Let us retire to the castle. My priestesses and I dislike this weather, and it's been a long journey."

"Of course," Maebh replied, motioning for the Prophet to follow.

The procession began its march down the long pier, with a host of armed Jindala guards in front, Maebh following, and the Prophet's own entourage trailing. The passing of the Enkhatar caused a wave of discomfort in all who observed, including the armed guards and many citizens who looked on in curiosity. Most of them looked away, not wanting to bear the burden of beholding such vile and revolting creatures. Their very presence was a dark ripple of fear that spread over the entire city, and even those that were several hundred yards away could feel their malevolence.

The creaking and grinding of their armor accentuated their disturbing demeanor. The disparaging sound echoed loudly as the town grew silent. The Prophet smiled with the feeling of dominance the Enkhatar gave her. They were at her command, and under their protection she was invincible and terrifying. With these utterly vile tools the Lifegiver had provided, the island would fall under her reign, with Maebh being her puppet.

Her smile grew into a sneer. She would be Queen of Eirenoch once again. The Dark Queen of Absu.

Kuros and his Rangers moved quickly through the forest near Faillaigh. The tracks they followed led toward Faerbane, and indicated a large force that seemed to be moving in a manner similar to Kuros' own troops. They were not footsoldiers, nor commoners or pilgrims. These were men of purpose, who followed the same routes that Kuros himself would have followed. His thoughts were on the missing company of Rangers that had disappeared with the coming of the Jindala to the north. Perhaps these tracks belonged to them.

It would be good to see Falgrin again. His counterpart was an old friend, and a skilled Ranger, and it had been several months since the two had last seen each other.

"Hold," Kuros whispered. The men behind him stopped, melting into the underbrush and remaining still and silent. Kuros eyed the tracks before him curiously. Something did not seem right. The number of tracks seemed to have grown from a group of a dozen men or so to nearly twenty.

The group they were following had met up with another, smaller group, and had continued on as one. Falgrin's company numbered fifty. This company, even with the addition of the new tracks, was far too small. Shaking his head, Kuros turned to his new lieutenant, Balgor. The young man came to crouch next to him, his face showing concern at Kuros' expression.

"What is it, Captain?" Balgor asked.

Kuros pointed to the strange grouping of tracks that seemed to gather in one area. "The group we are following met up with another group from the east," he said. "There was a brief exchange, and the two groups continued east."

"Perhaps Falgrin's group had previously split into three or more groups," Balgor suggested, "and two of them met up again here."

"I don't think so," Kuros said. "Falgrin is not likely to divide his forces. I thought perhaps his company had met with a powerful enemy and he had lost several Rangers. But meeting with another group altogether tells me that this is not Falgrin's company."

"Then who have we been following?"

Kuros shook his head, resting his forearms on his knees and looking off into the forest. "I don't know, Balgor," he sighed. "We will continue on."

Balgor signaled the rest of the men to follow, and the company continued their silent infiltration deeper into the forest. The tracks continued as before, taking a route away from the trails, and becoming more and more disguised. Whoever this group was, they were skilled. Even Kuros, who was an experienced and renowned tracker, had trouble following their trail. If these were not Rangers, then they were woodland folk the likes of which Kuros had never known.

After winding through an endless series of crags, knolls, and clumps of twisted trees, the Rangers came upon a dark clearing. It was approximately ten yards in diameter, with a bare dirt floor covered in dried leaves, sticks, and littered with tracks. Strangely, there appeared to be blood crusted among the roots of the surrounding trees, and half-dried pools in various places in the dirt.

From behind him, Kuros heard a silent gasp. He turned to look at Balgor and several other Rangers who were transfixed by something above. Kuros looked up into the canopy of trees, squinting in the dim light to see what had shocked his men. His eyes widened at what he saw.

Several dozen men hung from the bare branches, their bodies twisted and grotesquely bent and mutilated, their necks tightly wound with rope and bent oddly to the side. They all wore dark green cloaks, and woodland patterned tunics. Their boots had been removed, and they were weaponless.

"Falgrin's company," Kuros hissed. "All dead. Hanged like criminals."

Kuros stood, walking into the empty clearing, scanning the ground for any sign of a battle. Balgor joined him, commanding the Rangers to spread out and search for any clues.

"They fought here," Balgor reasoned, seeing the signs of battle in the tracks. "There are no signs of any men with armored boots, and no horse tracks to be seen. Whatever happened here was a battle between similar groups."

Kuros nodded. "This is disturbing," he said. "The enemy was a much smaller force than Falgrin's company. Yet they triumphed. What sort of force are we dealing with?"

Kuros question went unanswered. Balgor groaned as an arrow buried itself in his chest. He looked to Kuros for help as the old Ranger gasped and grabbed the dying man's shoulders. "Balgor!" he hissed.

The remaining Rangers immediately went on the defensive, drawing their swords and bows. Kuros crouched on one knee, gently guiding Balgor to the ground as he drew his last breath. Enraged, Kuros cursed the forest, standing to challenge the attacker.

"Show yourself!" he called into the shadowy trees. "Show yourself now!"

From the depths of the dark forest, laughter suddenly erupted. It was the laughter of an older child, it seemed. Fear began to creep into Kuros' bones as the obscene cacophony echoed in his ears.

"Come out now, boy!" Kuros yelled.

The laughter sounded again, this time followed by the sounds of something moving through the brush. The taller weeds swayed at the opposite end of the clearing, parting to the side as a single figure stepped through. It was a young man, dressed in black robes that were in the style of a Ranger. He wore a dark mask over the lower portion of his face, and his tunic was emblazoned with the symbol of a jackal; the sigil of Queen Maebh.

"Who are you?" Kuros demanded.

The boy laughed again, pulling back his hood. His hair was blonde and medium length. As he combed it back with his hand, Kuros could see something familiar in his eyes. That familiarity was compounded when the boy removed his mask. His face was almost recognizable, but Kuros could not place it. It was as if he had met this boy somewhere before. But that was impossible. He was much too young.

"Who are you?" Kuros asked again.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the boy said. "I am Eogan, Prince of the Southern Kingdom, and future King of Eirenoch."

Kuros scowled, watching as the boy calmly walked closer, seemingly unconcerned by the many Rangers that surrounded him.

"Queen Maebh has no son," Kuros said.

Eogan laughed. "On the contrary," he replied. "I was born fifteen years ago, unbeknownst to anyone in your so-called kingdom. For reasons I am not sure of I was kept a secret."

"Then you are a man of Eirenoch," Kuros said. "And despite being the son of the Bitch Queen, you should be standing with us against this Lifegiver and his minions."

"I care nothing for the Jindala," Eogan explained, still approaching Kuros confidently. "My only concern is ascending to the throne, and bringing the weaklings of this island to their knees in worship."

Kuros looked down at Balgor, then up to the Rangers hanging above. "Who is responsible for this?" he demanded.

Eogan smiled. "My company of dark Rangers," he answered stiffly. "They are much more powerful than the Rangers of the North, as they embrace the true darkness and shadow. Not like your men, who keep their heads in the world of light."

Kuros scowled again, his hatred for the boy growing and threatening to let loose. "You will pay for your treachery." he hissed, drawing his sword.

Eogan snapped his fingers. The sound of hundreds of arrows filled the clearing. Suddenly Kuros' men dropped to the ground, having been pierced by arrows or skewered with knives through the back. The dark Rangers had been hidden around the clearing and had thrown their cloaks back to reveal themselves. Kuros watched in agony as his men were killed without warning, none of them even having a chance to fight back. Within seconds, his entire company lay dead and bleeding on the forest floor. The Ranger's heart pounded in fear and sorrow. His friends were gone, and he now stood alone before this bastard son of Queen Maebh, who sneered at his despair.