The HaRT Knight Decaverse

Heir of Magic

Chapter 32

Lord of Assassins

Fabien’s draco-equus sped over the desert floor towards the canyon that would lead to the Palace of the Pride and his target. It was said a healthy draco-equus can cross three times the distance a horse can in half the time. Fabien’s titan could do seven in only a quarter of the time.
Almost there. I can almost smell his blood. Once we’re on that mesa, Kohr will be as good as dead, the voice in Fabien’s head crooned, and a thrill of excitement ran through him. The prospect of a fresh kill always exhilarated the voice, but this was the first time Fabien himself felt excited by the prospect. Perhaps the events of Moondrake had changed something inside him, or perhaps it was because of who his target was. General Kohr had been a thorn in Cain’s side for the past five years. Fabien always knew that he would be the one charged with ending the General’s life, eventually. It wasn’t as if Guerra had done it on the battlefield.
Look! the voice in squealed in excitement, causing Fabien to reign in his draco-equus. In front of the golden cavern stood a pride warrior on watch. We’ll have to take care of him before we can make our way up the cliff.
Fabien pulled at a small lever beneath the bracer on his right arm and a crossbow lath popped out on either side of the bracer. This stranger does not deserve to suffer. A quick acting poison dart should do the trick, Fabien thought.
The voice in his head immediately protested, No! They all deserve pain!
Whatever the voice’s opinion, Fabien slipped a dart covered with paraceltian basilisk venom into the groove of his bracer-crossbow and aimed. The dart struck the pride warrior in the neck, and by the time he raised a hand to his wound, pulsating green veins already covered his face, arm, and torso. The venom of the paraceltian basilisk—a creature born from an alchemical experiment to mimic the creation of normal basilisks—was the most potent in the world and a mere drop could kill a full-grown man in a matter of seconds. The pride warrior was evidence of that now as he fell to his knees before keeling over, dead.
Fabien clicked twice with his tongue and his draco-equus shot forward again. As it reached the cliff-side, it leaped forward, sinking its claws into the stone. Within mere seconds, they were at the top of the cliff where a boulder with a black lion painted on its side stood no more than ten feet away from them.
Fabien leaped off the beast’s back and said, “Wait down there.” Without hesitation, the draco-equus turned and leaped off the cliff.
Fabien went to his knees in the shadow of the boulder and began to survey the Palace of the Pride, searching for his prey. He found him in a matter of seconds. Kohr stood between a man with long black hair and a young cevarion with the head of a mouse.
The Silver General was much bigger than Fabien had expected. He was broad-shouldered and was closer to seven feet than six. But that size would not save him against the special poison Fabien had concocted just for this occasion. From a pouch hanging from his belt, he pulled a small glass vial filled with a murky brown liquid, enough to cover two arrowheads. He had spent the better part of the last four years developing this poison; it was probably the most potent killer in existence. While there were known preventative measures and cures for paraceltian basilisk venom—even one rumored instance of a witch who used mithridatism to build an immunity against it—there was nothing in all of existence that would be able to prevent or stop Fabien’s muddy concoction. The smallest cut from an arrowhead covered in this poison and the alchemical substance would enter the bloodstream and self-replicate as it tore down the infected person from the inside out. Sure, it would take a little longer to kill the person than paraceltian basilisk venom, but this way was a lot more painful.
Yes, yes, make him suffer! The voice said in elation.
Once both arrowheads were sufficiently covered in poison, Fabien took his long, ebony bow from his back and nocked one of the poisoned arrows. He doubted he would need two arrows, but an assassin is always prepared for the smallest eventuality. At least, that was what he taught the assassins under his command.
He was just about to take aim when something caused the crowd of people in the Palace of the Pride to react. It was like a gang of meerkats reacting to the presence of a predator. The reason was easy enough to spot. A tall and muscularly built man with long mahogany hair and dressed in a brilliant crimson cloak over a black leather bell cuirass was striding through the crowd towards Kohr. He moved so gracefully that he made the simple act of walking looked like an art form. Whoever this was, his mere presence made Kohr appear small and insignificant.
Something isn’t right here. We should forget about Kohr and kill that one instead. That or we should run, the voice warned and Fabien shook his head. It was not like the voice to advise restraint. It only ever reacted like this in the presence of Adagnitio or his dog. But other than the fact that there was a slight resemblance between the dog and this man, he could not see why the voice reacted this way.
“It doesn’t matter,” Fabien said aloud to himself. “I can’t let Kohr leave here alive.” He took a deep breath and drew the bowstring. The General was laughing at something the black-haired man said as Fabien let go of the bowstring.
The newcomer shouted something and produced a magic gust of wind that sent General Kohr flinging sideways out of the path of the arrow. The draco-equus behind where Kohr had been standing fell to the ground as the poisoned arrow struck it instead.
“I missed? I’ve never missed in my entire life,” Fabien grumbled to himself with incredulity. He fell silent; however, as he saw the strange warrior who saved Kohr’s life staring straight into his eyes.
He sees us! Run! The voice yelled as the iceberg blue eyes focused on him with a scowl.
Whipping his head in the other direction, he saw Kohr getting to his feet, too far for the newcomer to reach in time. And with unnatural speed, Fabien nocked the other arrow, took aim, and let go. The arrow flew unhindered to its target this time.

The deep sound of Kohr’s laughter echoed across the Palace of the Pride as Alexander approached the procession. Merrick was stroking the nose of a draco-equus.
“What’s so funny?” Alexander asked as soon as he was in earshot.
“Ah, Alexander, have you said your goodbyes?” Kohr asked.
“I have,” he nodded.
“And? Do you feel better now?” Kohr asked, giving Alexander a quizzical look.
“I do,” Alexander nodded, surprised to hear him admit it.
“Good, then you’ll be riding a little lighter. I just gave your friend here the draco-equus we brought for you. I don’t think the horses will take to kindly to a wolf riding them,” Kohr said, ignorant to Alexander’s shocked expression.
“You know?” Alexander asked in a hushed voice.
“I know,” Kohr nodded. “He is not the first werewolf I’ve met; he is the first tame one, however.”
Alexander wanted to reply, to ask questions, but a sudden feeling of foreboding came over him—something was not right.
“So, Merrick will ride the draco-equus,” Kohr said again.
“I’ve named him, Binky,” Merrick said innocently.
“Binky? Really?” Alexander said, finally understanding why Kohr was laughing so hard.
“Yeah. He looks like a Binky, doesn’t he?” Merrick asked, pulling the beast’s top lip up to reveal its razor-sharp teeth.
“Dante tells me you’ve spent most of your life on a ship, so I take it you have very little experience riding?” Kohr asked.
“I can ride very well. We used to make regular visits to Paylos Island. It is said they have the best steeds in all the world, and the hardest to break in. Every year when we stopped over on the island, I would ride for days on end,” Alexander said, the feeling of foreboding intensifying. The feeling was so strong by now that he was surprised that no one else could feel it.
“Ah, that simplifies things. You can try to tame Bucy. A bandit killed her rider on our way here, and no one else can seem to manage her ferocious spirit.”
Merrick made a mocking laugh and said, “Bucy, that’s a stupid name for a horse.”
Kohr laughed and exchanged jokes with Merrick about the naming of steeds, but Alexander did not hear a word of it. His attention was diverted as a sharp pain shot through his eyes and he saw the approaching danger.
“Look out!” Alexander shouted. Instinct took over and he sent a giant ball of air at Kohr. It blasted him off his feet and sent him flying backward. The draco-equus named Binky collapsed and Merrick gave a dramatic scream for his new pet which groaned in pain as its body melted into a brown puddle like mud. But Alexander’s attention was focused on the figure next to the boulder on top of the mesa walls of the Palace of the Pride.
His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the shadow-dhaesí staring back at him., the same dhaesí he had seen at the king’s summit on Moondrake, the one who had made it possible for Cain to destroy the flying city, the Black General.
The dhaesí assassin whipped his head away from Alexander to where Kohr was getting up, and in a blur of movement, aimed another arrow at Kohr and sent it flying.
Again, Alexander reacted, only this time he used his Gate Magic to defend the Kohr. The abjuration circle formed beneath the general in seconds and as it snapped open, a glowing transparent screen rose out of the gate. The arrow struck it and ricocheted away digging itself into the ground.
The dhaesí assassin looked furious at missing his target twice, but cut his losses and made a run for it. He turned and vanished from sight behind the bolder.
“No, you don’t,” Alexander said as he sped forward to chase after the assassin.
The next moment, something sped past him, and Merrick called, “You will be avenged, Binky!”
Still human, Merrick leaped up the cliff face almost like he was already transformed. Meanwhile, Alexander had come to a standstill, realizing he had no way of getting up the cliff as fast.
Suddenly the ground beneath Alexander’s feet gave an almighty crack as he shot up to the top of the cliff on top of a pillar of stone. As Alexander stared down to make sense of what had just happened, he saw the small mouse-headed Jared waving him on. “Go get him, Alexander!”
“Thanks, Jared!” Alexander called back, then leaped to the top of the mesa next to Merrick who was baring his teeth.
The Black General stood a short distance ahead, staring back curiously. Being pursued did not seem to worry him at all. “So, you’re a werewolf,” he pointed at Merrick. “But what are you?” he asked Alexander with raised eyebrows.
“I am your death,” Alexander said, drawing his sword with his right and conjuring a flame in his left.
The dhaesí rolled his eyes at Alexander’s reply. In another blur of movement, he produced a black sphere that the threw at his pursuers. It exploded open the second it hit the ground and sent about twenty small darts speeding towards Alexander and Merrick.
Once again he produced an abjuration circle like the one he had used to protect Kohr and a transparent pane of blue and red rose out of the gate, and the poisoned darts bounced off them.
“Now that right there is curious, and more than a little troubling,” The Black General said, still facing his two opponents. “From the air and fire I’ve seen you conjure, I figured you to be a druid, but that right there is voynich magic. I’ve never heard of a septim who was also a druid. So, what are you?”
“I already told you, I’m the guy that will kill you,” Alexander said, trying his best not to show his concern for his mistake. He would have to kill the dhaesí now.
“I’m not a big fan of taking on fights where I know nothing about my opponent. So, until the White General can tell me what you are—” he never finished his sentence, instead he just spread his arms and fell backward off the cliff.
Alexander shut the abjuration gate and he and Merrick sprinted forward to the edge of the mesa. Below them, the black general was speeding off on the back of a big black draco-equus.
“Shade, we’ll never be able to catch him on that thing,” Alexander said.
“Yes, we can,” Merrick said, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had magically appeared behind them. “But you can’t tell anyone I let you do this!”
“Do what?” Alexander asked.
Merrick shook his head and then started to growl and scratch at himself as he transformed into a werewolf. When he was done, he bent down and growled, “Get on.”
Alexander did not argue or hesitate; he knew if they were to catch the assassin, they would need to act fast. Grabbing two hands full of black werewolf fur, Alexander swung one leg over Merrick’s back.
Merrick howled as he shot forward off the cliff and onto the desert floor. The speed at which the werewolf could run was unnerving.
“Get ready to jump,” Merrick growled as they approached the draco-equus. “Now,” Merrick said as he jumped to the side, his jaws closing on the draco-equus’s neck.
Alexander, landed gracefully on the sand just in time to see the draco-equus take a tumble with its master still on it.
As the dhaesí freed himself from the tumbling and battling beast Alexander charged at him with a vicious swing of his sword. The Black General however, dodged effortlessly and countered with a thrust from a dagger that looked more like a mini-trident. Alexander backed away and the two of them began to circle each other.
“You’re a persistent little gnat, aren’t you?” The Black General said.
“Yes, well, the last time I just let you go, you destroyed all of moondrake,” Alexander said.
“You were there?” the dhaesí said, pausing for only a second in his surprise. “Is that where you learned aeroturgy then? Strange, those moon chickens weren’t likely to train just anyone. You must be someone important. Oh, and I wasn’t the one to destroy Moondrake. That was Cain’s rabid dog.” He tapped the small silver bell hanging from his belt.
The belt! Alexander thought as he took in the blackened buckle's detail for the first time. A piece of Enlil’s Armor.
Behind the dhaesí, Merrick and the draco-equus clawed and snapped at one another. I’ll have to face this General all alone, then.
Alexander launched himself forward, intent like never before to kill. The assassin was too quick, however. Looking like a lazy cat, he swatted Alexander’s attack away before pretending to relax again, an infuriating grin on his face.
Alexander quickly wiped the grin off his face as he surprised the dhaesí with the speed of his next few attacks. Blow after blow fell in rapid succession. It took the dhaesí several long minutes before he broke free from the constant attacks and staggered back a few paces.
“Enhanced speed and strength as well,” the dhaesí sneered. “You are definitely a problem that would be better solved now than later, before you can become a true danger to our plans.”
The assassin suddenly launched into an attack of his own. This time, Alexander was the one constantly on the defensive, just barely keeping up with the dhaesí’s frightening speed and accuracy.
If I hold back against him, I’ll surely die, Alexander thought as he parried a deadly blow aimed at his neck.
Alexander leaped back and sent a gust of the wind beneath the dhaesí’s hand-like feet. The assassin landed face-first onto the desert floor.
Alexander moved quickly and twirled his sword once, bringing it to a sudden halt, sending the air arrow flying straight at the assassin’s head. The Black General managed to roll out of the way just in time, the air arrow missing him by inches.
With a ferocious snarl, he launched himself at Alexander, both of his trident-like daggers pointed at his heart. With the reactions born from a lifetime of fighting, Alexander blocked the dual thrust attack, the blade of his sword resting between two of the prongs of one the dagger and guiding it to the side to block the other. Using all his superior angelian strength, he forced the assassin’s arms apart and like a dragon, breathed fire at his opponent. The Black General let go of his daggers and leaped backwards, tripping on the stone Alexander geoturgically placed in his path at the last second.
The dhaesí fell to the ground and Alexander threw the two trident-like daggers as far from reach as possible. With two more twirls to his sword, he sent another air arrow at the downed dhaesí, except this time it was set on fire. The assassin’s face was a mask of fear and shock as he rolled out of the way of the approaching flaming bolt. Once again, he managed to get out of the way just in time, but this time, as the bolt struck the ground it exploded. The assassin rolled away from this impact zone, his warrior’s tail singed beyond repair, but besides that, unscathed.
“You’re a Galatea, aren’t you?” the dhaesí snarled as he got to his knees, drawing the short sword from his belt. “A hybrid race, like Cain.”
A realization dawned on Alexander that caused his blood to go ice cold as he stared into the dhaesí’s eyes. He wasn’t really trying to kill me. He was testing me; drawing out my abilities to study me and learn what I am. And he’s dangerously close to figuring it out.
Alexander shot forward as white flames gathered rapidly around his body while crimson ones wrapped themselves around his sword. Once again, the dhaesí assassin tried to dodge the attack, but the added speed granted by the White Flame’s Embrace meant that this time he was a little too late. The blazing sword came down with a roar of flames that severed the Black General’s right ear and left a nasty smoldering slash running from his shoulder to the center of his chest. The flames of the sword licked at his face, leaving horrible blisters behind.
Roars of pain met the screams from the Black General as Merrick ripped out the draco-equus’s throat with his dagger-like fangs.
“It’s over, shadow-dhaesí,” Alexander said, standing over the assassin.
“You might have caught me unaware this time,” the dhaesí said in a voice so different from the one he had used before that Alexander actually took a step back. It was a fatal mistake. “But the next time me meet; I will slaughter you like a pig.”
The Black General flung a hand full of metal knives, like the kunai Alexander had seen warriors from Wánggá use, at Merrick. The knives hit their mark in the werewolf’s chest, and instantaneously Merrick crumbled to the ground with horrible convulsions.
“Now, you have a choice. Me, or your friend,” the dhaesí said, waving a vial containing a green liquid in the air. “His werewolf venom will only slow the poison down, and this is the only cure for it. If you don’t get it to him within thirty seconds, he will become eternally trapped in a body that can never again move. Now, choose!”
The Black General threw the glass vial away from himself. Alexander dropped his sword to the ground and leaped after the antidote. He caught it with the tips of his fingers just in time to stop it from smashing against the stones the dhaesí had aimed for.
As the realization that he was now unarmed dawned on Alexander, he rolled his body over, a flame dancing in the palm of his free hand. The assassin was gone.
Incredulously Alexander stared around him. Why would he have fled? This was the perfect moment to attack.
A gurgling sound close-by brought Alexander back to the current situation. Gripping the vial tightly in his hand, he ran to the convulsing werewolf.
“Drink, Merrick!” Alexander said as he threw the entire antidote down the werewolf’s throat without a second’s thought for the potion’s authenticity.
Alexander knew that this might not help Merrick at all, and that it might be just another poison, but it was all he had. Relief washed over him however, as Merrick’s shaking subsided and he took his human form once again.
“That was unpleasant.” Merrick opened his eyes and coughed. “Thanks, brother.”
Alexander lay his naked friend back down on the sand and walked to where he had dropped his sword, replaced it in its scabbard, and stared around the battlefield. The assassin’s trident-like daggers were gone as well.
“Alexander! Merrick!” the shouts were coming from the canyon. Dante led the procession from Pensilisurbis along with half of the pride tribe.
“We’re fine,” Alexander said, standing up.
“Not when I’m through with you!” Dante growled, almost as fierce a growl as one from a pride warrior. “You fool! You could have been killed!”
The ferocious nature of Dante’s approach chilled Alexander to the bone, and evidently, he was not the only one who felt it. Merrick scrambled to hide behind Alexander.
“Dante. We’re fine. I even almost had him,” Alexander stammered as Dante came to them and aimed a swing at his head with his oak staff.
Alexander ducked underneath the swing and heard Merrick groan with pain from behind him.
“Do you know who that was?” Dante asked as he aimed a jab at Alexander’s stomach with the staff.
Alexander sidestepped the jab and Merrick doubled up as the it hit him full in the gut. “Yes, it was Cain’s Black General, the Lord of A—” Alexander could not get the rest out as Dante suddenly went ballistic with his staff. He swung it left and right, most of the blows landing home on Merrick. “You knew! And yet you still attempted to take him on! I told you, you are not ready to take on the Generals yet!”
“Calm down, wizard!” Kohr said. “They are both still alive, and if the reprimand you just gave them did not drive the point home, I don’t know what will.”
“Oh, I’ll find a way,” Dante said, looking at Kohr, who backed away a few steps. “They will be the ones to feed and water the beasts every time we stop on our way to the city; they will also be the ones to wash the dishes every night and collect firewood. And those are just the chores I can think of now.”
“As you wish, wizard. I am sure it my men will be thrilled at the reduction of their chores,” Kohr said.
Alexander frowned in outrage at this punishment from Dante and Kohr’s willingness to go along with it. He was not a child that could be grounded when he did not obey the rules, besides; he had done nothing wrong. But now was not the time to mention this, not while Dante was in this foul mood. So, instead, Alexander just nodded and started to make his way back to where the beasts were waiting for the procession to leave. No one spoke to him as he walked silently to the horse named Bucy.
“It’s okay, girl,” Alexander said in a soft but commanding voice to the horse as he stroked its head. The horse nodded its head twice and turned so Alexander could get on.
As he was about to mount the beast, a gleam in the dirt caught his eye. There, mere inches away from his feet, was the arrow his spell had deflected. A grin creased Alexander’s face.
Whatever the arrow was coated in, it was so potent that the first one had turned Merrick’s draco-equus into a puddle of mud. Alexander bent down and picked up the arrow. As he examined it closely, he said to himself, “You might come in handy down the road.”