Rich Wulf - Rise of the Seventh Moon

“For Captain Marth and Cyre!” Niam roared, charging at Zed.

Startled, Zed readied his sword to defend himself. Niam flung himself onto the blade. The shortsword fell from his hands with a clatter. He sneered at Zed with a look of satisfied defiance as he died.

“I suppose interrogating them is out,” Shaimin said dryly.

The door burst open behind them. Eraina entered with sword and spear in hand. She looked at the body impaled on Zed’s sword.

“Diplomacy?” she asked.

“I tried to talk to them,” Zed said, pushing the undertaker’s corpse off his blade with one boot. “These people are crazy.”

“The fault is mine, Marshal,” Shaimin said, gesturing calmly with his daggers. “Violence was an inevitable outcome, but I fear I accelerated matters.”

“Get rid of your knives, whoever you are,” Eraina ordered, looking at him warily.

Shaimin flicked his wrists and the blades disappeared. He held up his empty hands and smirked. Eraina’s hands tightened on her weapons. Her eyes took a stubborn gleam that warned Zed a quick intervention was in order.

“Eraina, be careful,” Zed said. “This is Shaimin d’Thuranni.”

“The assassin who attacked Tristam?” Eraina asked. “Did you follow us here?”

“Follow you?” Shaimin chuckled. “Absolutely not. I’ve been here watching these ghouls for nearly a week. It was about time you arrived.”

“Come then, assassin,” she said, beckoning with her sword. “We are ready for you.”

Shaimin rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to kill you,” he said. “I just saved Zed’s life. Pay attention. Shall we call it even?”

“It’s true,” Zed said. “I think. It didn’t turn violent till he started killing people, but he was trying to help.” Zed shifted uncertainly. “Probably.”

Shaimin sighed. “I’m not talking about the orgy of death,” he said. “These men were nothing you couldn’t handle alone, Arthen. I killed them because I was bored. I refer to this.” He reached into his vest and drew out a folded scrap of parchment, throwing it at Zed’s feet.

Zed looked at Shaimin suspiciously.

“Oh, yes, by all means be cautious,” the elf said, growing more annoyed. “It’s a dangerous letter, covered with invisible scorpions. They’re trained to bite everyone but me. It’s my weapon of choice.” He rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently.

Feeling foolish, Zed sheathed his massive sword, knelt and picked up the letter. It bore a broken wax seal decorated with the modified Cyran crest that Marth’s soldiers wore. He unfolded it and read the contents.

Kenricksons ,

The man in question is an Inquisitive in service to our most dangerous enemies, House Cannith. Reports indicate he is a former paladin and an expert swordsman. Zed Arthen must be approached with utmost caution. If he can be taken alive, interrogate him and determine the location of the airship Mourning Dawn. If he poses any difficulty, kill him without hesitation. He must be kept away from Fort Ash at all costs .

“You’re fortunate the undertakers never received that,” the assassin said. “They might have roused enough thugs to actually kill you.”

Zed looked at Shaimin sharply. “Where did you find this?” he demanded, passing it to Eraina.

“Yarold Kenrickson was a distrustful man,” Shaimin said. “The moment his brother returned with news of your meeting, he dispatched a messenger to this Fort Ash to determine whether you were a threat. He became paranoid when the messenger never returned.”

“When you murdered the messenger, you mean,” Eraina said.

“His death was mercy,” Shaimin said with a wicked smile. “He wouldn’t have lived long, the way he was bleeding after I found him.”

“Wait,” Arthen said. “You took this letter from a messenger on his way back here. After the messenger reported. So Marth’s soldiers know I’m in Nathyrr?”

“Apparently,” Shaimin replied, waving one hand. “The only reason I even followed the messenger was to learn where their headquarters was. It was serendipity that I found that letter while I was questioning him on the way back. Your exposure was no fault of mine. Use an alias, Arthen. You won’t have these problems.”

“I didn’t mean to be recognized,” Zed said. He blinked, realizing what he was saying. “Why am I explaining myself? What are you doing here, d’Thuranni? Whose side are you on? You tried to murder Tristam and Seren. Now you want us to help each other?”

“I serve House Thuranni,” he said. “That is all.”

“You took a contract on behalf of your house to murder our friend,” Eraina said.

“You assume much,” Shaimin said, leveling a stern finger at her. “Suffice it to say that you are wrong. Dalan d’Cannith revealed elements of this situation that have complicated my involvement.”

“Dalan tends to do that,” Zed said.

“Dalan hired you?” Eraina asked. “Your loyalties shift easily.”

Shaimin sighed, then laughed. “My loyalties? Let us retain perspective. You’re the mercenary here, Marshal. Money can occasionally broaden a Thuranni’s loyalties but they never waver. I was entrusted to perform a task. I now find it in my best interests to complete it in an unconventional manner. Suffice it to say that our ultimate goals are, for the time being, in alignment. We can help one another.”

“You expect us to aid a known killer?” Eraina said.

“We are all killers, Marshal,” Shaimin replied. “How many criminals have you killed in Boldrei’s name? How many of Marth’s soldiers have you slain? Were they wicked men, d’Deneith? Did all of them deserve death?”

The paladin snarled. “I should turn you over to the Knights of the Silver Flame.”

“For their sake, I recommend that you do not,” Shaimin said. “I see no reason those knights should die.”

“Eraina, Shaimin, please,” Zed said. He stepped between them but kept his eyes on the elf. “Sniping at each other isn’t helping. It won’t be long before the Cyrans come looking for their supplies and discover the Kenricksons are dead. We need to figure out our next move.”

“I know the location of Fort Ash,” Shaimin said, “but I am hesitant to infiltrate it alone. Though I mean you no harm in any case, perhaps a truce might settle your temper and allow us to aid one another?”

“Easy for you to say, Shaimin,” Eraina said. “You don’t have to worry about either of us stabbing you in the back if a truce becomes burdensome.”

“I have sharpened my daggers on tongues half as sharp as yours,” Shaimin snapped. “Why must you be so judgmental, Marshal? You do not know me. I am not the monster you presume me to be.”

“Why do wicked men always believe they are good?” Eraina asked. “Boldrei grants me clarity of vision. I know you for what you are.”

“I never claimed to be good either,” Shaimin said. “I merely wish to serve my family-as you do. Before you deny what I offer, consider that I can lead you to Marth’s stronghold. On the honor of my House, I swear not to betray you. Surely even a Deneith can comprehend that?”

Eraina fell silent. She sheathed her shortsword and lowered her spear.

“Up to you, Eraina,” Zed said. “I’m just the deputy.”

“On the honor of House Thuranni, you swear not to betray us?” Eraina asked.

“I swear your lives and honor are safe in my care so long as mine are safe in yours,” Shaimin said. He closed his eyes and bowed his head before her.

Eraina grunted under her breath. “Keep an eye on him, Zed,” she said. “I’m going to search the rest of the building.”

“Aye, Marshal,” Zed said as she marched past into the back rooms.