The Gates of Arstelem (Classic)

Chapter 16

The day was still young, but Haniel felt the same unease she felt at night. Something was wrong. She turned to Berrand, whispering a warning.

Around them, the crowd continued on its normal path, but she noticed changes. A man in sturdy working clothes cut through the crowd, pushing through pedestrians too forcefully to be simply returning from a day of work.

Haniel spotted his quarry, a priest moving slowly through the crowd. Judging by his gait, and the staff he carried, he was ancient, having seen many years. She perked up her ears and motioned for Berrand to hang back.

Pushing through the crowd herself, she ducked and weaved, putting her hand on the hilt of her blade. The cold ebon hilt pressed against her palm, too light to really exist yet tangible beneath her grasp. A peddler noticed her gesture, pulling back reflexively from the awaiting violence, but she went otherwise unnoticed in the crowd.

The man was now nearly to his target, and Haniel noticed the hammer held in his hand. His posture suggested that it was not to be used for peaceful labor, and the position he took behind the priest suggested he was waiting for a more private moment to do his dirty work. The ancient continued, an oblivious methuselah approaching his downfall with every step from the common square.

Haniel would not let this happen. She did not know why she cared to protect the priest, other than the fact that the aggressor could be related to the vague threat of this "Order of the Scale".

The priest turned into an alley, searching for the doorway to some private residence. The hammer-man followed him, testing the weight of his weapon in his hand before preparing a swing.

As he brought his arm back, Haniel shouted a warning. The murderer turned, his weapon brought toward Haniel. She drew her sword from its sheath, bringing it out into the light of day. Even though its obsidian dormancy stripped it of much of its power, the blade arced through the head of the hammer, splitting the fasteners that held it aloft and sending the wrought iron plummeting to the dust of the alley.

The man gasped, and reached for his knife. A second swipe from Haniel disarmed him, drawing an inch-deep incision down his right forearm and crossing his abdomen with abandon. He was just a common mercenary, and this wound was too much for him. Haniel left the hired killer for Berrand to judge as he collapsed in the alley trying to hold in his viscera.

As she headed back to Berrand and Adezek, she noticed that they were being followed by another figure. She started pushing her way toward them, but when she realized that she would not reach them in time she shouted a warning to Berrand.

Hearing Haniel's shout, Berrand turned, seeing the man behind him and pushing Adezek out of the way of an incoming knife. The missile hurtled into the crowd, striking an unfortunate woman in the arm.

Their assailant drew a short sword, and Berrand turned to flee. Adezek had no time to respond, but the attacker prioritized the courier over the peasant and ignored him as he gave chase. Haniel brought her sword to the ready, holding it so that she could strike from any angle. However, Berrand turned, and instead of approaching Haniel darted out of the common square by way of a major avenue.

Haniel sheathed her sword and set off in pursuit, pushing the crowd until she came to an opening. Breaking into a sprint, she deftly leapt over the planters that marked the boundaries of the marketplace and caught herself from falling as she entered the market grounds. Seeing a cart in her way, she climbed to a rooftop, grasping the eaves and kicking off of a windowsill to push herself upward.

Nimbly coming to her feet, she set off, each step impacting on tile or on the thatched roofs as she darted toward the men. Berrand tripped, sprawling to the ground, and his assailant came to a halt, drawing a blade.

Without hesitation, Haniel flung her arms forward, as if by instinct. She saw images of the desolation that had been wrought during the war, and thought of the sheer force of arcane might that had been brought to bear.

That was the power she wanted, and it rippled through her body, tearing at her muscles, poking at her skin, taking the nails of her fingers and twisting them with force. Her vision blurred and her nose was filled with the scent of blood as three lances flashed toward the assailant.

Transfixed, he stood motionless over Berrand, his dying gasp audible to Haniel as she tumbled from the rooftop. She scrambled for her balance too late, tucking her arms around her head. She had the fortune of falling into a garden, crushing a bush as she fell but escaping the worst of the impact.

Berrand turned to look at his assailant, stunned as much by the fact that he had not yet been attacked as his fall. The man's eyes were wide; one of Haniel's lances had pierced through his chest, killing him instantly with the shock.

The man was a follower of Vani, that much was clear. The coinpurse he carried was embroidered with the god's symbol—just like Berrand's. The courier inspected the man more closely. It was not his first experience with death, but he had never been in a fight that ended in death before.

He looked at the scars that ran up and down the man's arm. Not from Noraan. He had to have come from the south, where Vani was known as Iovan. The cults there were more violent, more extreme.

He paused for a moment, admiring the intricacy in morbid reverie. How much love and nurture had this man known? He bore the art and tradition of his faith in his flesh, and with his passing the knowledge he had would die and the scars would disappear as the corpse was reduced to bones by the years.

He felt something turn in his stomach, and he twisted away from the sight, falling to his knees. His lungs began to constrict, his eyes blurred and his hands shook. He was about to fall as Haniel caught up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He barely remained upright, but he felt himself regaining control over his body.

"He-he was a follower of Vani," Berrand gasped, trying to get the words out between breaths. "Probably one of the Order of the Scale's cultists. Adenån was right when he said that we were in danger just for meeting with him. We should return to Arstelem."

Haniel countermanded him, her voice half-snarl, "And run away from the fight? Aren't you like a son to Gorreth? I have never fled a mortal foe, and I don't intend to do so now. Are you too timid to shed the blood of another follower of Vani?

"Do you not know that Vani is Iovan, the trickster god? That he betrayed his fellows?" She spat, the spittle landing on the ground next to Berrand's leg. "I can tolerate your alien faith, but not your willingness to bow knee to a god like Vani. Stand up. We have a job to do."

Berrand knelt, his head in his hands. The Wesfor guards had heard the commotion, and had begun to push their way through the crowd. Haniel returned to the tavern, hoping to avoid their questioning, leaving Berrand and Adezek alone to face the authorities. As Haniel walked, she noted that the feeling of foreboding that had come over her when she left the temple had been replaced with anger at those who had tried to do such harm. She had been born to serve the Levånites, and now she wondered if it was not such a bad lot in life. The pay Gorreth offered was generous enough, if Berrand didn't mess it up.