The Onyx Throne - Book One

Lethelin shifted slightly as she watched the inn’s common room. Yarlest saw to a few more customers who wished a warm bed for the night and there were a handful of others that came and went in the hour or so since Mitchell and Allora left, regulars from the looks of them, but otherwise things were uneventful. She could have wished for a better stool but there was nothing for it.

Small movements didn’t break her glamour or whatever it was. Lethelin never did have a proper name for it. She was dun, so it wasn’t magic, at least not in the way people like Allora used it. Her mentor had always called it her knack or her talent. Not mystical but also not something just anyone could do, either. As long as her movements were small and slow, the “spell”, for lack of a better word, would not be broken. Lethelin carefully scratched her nose before bringing her hand gently back to her lap and returned her eyes to the one customer she’d started watching the most intently.

He was a gnome and, from conversation she’d overheard, he went by the name of Gwildor. His bald head glinted occasionally off the lanterns hung about the room and he had a shockingly white ring of hair around the crown of his head. One ear was long and pointed and the other had had the tip cut off at some point in the past. Both of them quivered when he laughed, which she knew to be something unique to their race. His face was a scrunched up bunch of wrinkles that looked like something had put their hands on both sides and squeezed. And, like all gnomes, he had a pointy nose that stuck out at least two inches from his face. His clothing was simple laborer’s garb, so he was no one particularly important.

He sat by himself on a stool at the end of the bar and had been putting away a tankard of ale about every fifteen minutes. Lethelin had marked him as a person of interest when he had seemed the most distressed by her absence. He was one of the patrons who had looked at them and then looked away too quickly, but his obvious unhappiness at losing track of her had been a warning sign.

“Yarly, where did the pretty red-haired woman get off to? I fancied a chat with her,” Gwildor had said when he noticed her “missing”.

“She’s being right over–” Yarlest had said then stopped when she noticed the table that Lethelin had occupied was empty and she saw no sign of her. “Huh. Girl must have scampered off upstairs to bed. She did be looking tired. I suspect she was being on the road for a while.”

Yarlest then snorted in Gwildor’s general direction.

“As if a woman like that would want to be talking to a wrinkled old desert plum like you anyway, Gwil! Yer being five times her age if yer being a day!”

“Age and experience, my good lady,” Gwildor cackled. “I could show her a thing or two, you bet your plump bottom. By Stollar, I could!”

Yarlest laughed and rolled her eyes.

“And the other fine lady and the lad,” he said, “where did you send them off to in such a hurry?”

“Off to see Nothok. They be looking to cross the mountain.”

“Tough journey,” Gwildor said with a knowing nod of his bald and wrinkled head. “But Nothok’s an honorable sort, he is. He’ll get them taken care of.

“That he will,” Yarlest said. “Yer being asking a lot of questions, Gwil. What’s got you being so talkative?”

“Just don’t often see such lovely ladies in a place like this is all,” Gwildor answered. Then he added quickly, “Except for you, my lovely Yarly. Except for you!”

Gwildor raised his mug to her and she laughed.

“Be flattering me all you like, Gwil, you’ll non be getting a free ale!”

Gwildor shrugged and took a swig.

“One day, my lovely Yarly. One day.”

Yarlest shook her head and went back to work.

As soon as she had turned away Lethelin had seen the pleasant grin slide from the old gnome’s face and a look of consternation replace it.

About fifteen minutes later, an orc had come in, nodded to Yarlest who greeted him by name, and sat down next to Gwildor. They began speaking in low whispers almost immediately. Gwildor gestured up the steps and the orc nodded, then slid a coin across the table to the little gnome, who pocketed it greedily. The orc got up and walked back out the door into the night, never glancing at Lethelin’s corner as she watched him.

He was big, thickly muscled, and wore a sword, but it hung awkwardly at his hip. He didn’t have the easy grace of someone that was accustomed to walking with it. Also no sevith or krisa so, unless he was a wand user, which was rare, she would be able to take him in a fight. Probably. She would feel better with her rapier but she had left it behind, not wanting to carry the extra weight across the blasted sands of Iletish and so only carried her stiletto and dagger now.

With the orc gone, she gave Gwildor her full attention and she waited. She wouldn’t make her move until he got up to relieve himself, which should be any time now at the rate he was drinking his ales.

Right about the time Gwildor was getting a little shifty in his stool, Mitchell and Allora returned. They looked upset by something and they glanced around the room looking for her. Not seeing her, Allora asked Yarlest if they’d seen her and the innkeeper indicated she had gone up to her room not too long after they’d gone to see Nothok. Lethelin’s companions thanked her and went up the steps themselves.

Gwildor had watched the interaction while trying not to look like he was watching. Once Mitchell and Allora had disappeared up the steps, he hopped down from the stool and announced his visit to the privy. He wobbled a bit, found his balance, and headed to the inn’s back door. Lethelin tilted the stool forward back onto four legs then got to her feet. Now was the tricky part. If she walked very slowly, the illusion sometimes held. She had considered her concealment cloak but it wasn’t much use in such close quarters. The odd blurring effect would likely draw more attention than it would deflect anyway.

Lethelin didn’t want to be seen walking to the privy herself, but also needed to get to him before he finished his business and went off to tell the others whatever he was being paid to report on. She decided to split the difference.

She took careful measured steps to the stairs that led up to the second floor and then picked up her pace. Even then, the effect began to waver. Luckily, Yarlest was occupied with someone trying to sleep at one of her tables, and the handful of remaining customers were fairly drunk at this point, so she managed to slip out the door unnoticed.

The door opened up on an area near the stables and there were two privies set up as far from the back of the inn as was possible before they butted up against the fence line. To her right came the sound of the snoring clorvol and she could hear the nervous rustle of the couple of jivis who no doubt didn’t like being housed so close to the beast. They would be in a foul temper in the morning and she didn’t envy their owners the bites they would receive.

Lethelin crossed the distance to the privy and waited. She could hear Gwildor on the other side of the door humming a tune to himself as he emptied his bladder. She pulled Mira from its sheath and held it loosely at her side. A quick glance around her showed her that she was alone and no windows from the inn looked back towards her. The night was still except for the sounds of the stable and the light breeze that rolled down from the mountains which helped to clear the air of the stench of animal and outhouse.

From inside she heard Gwildor grunt and burp before his feet shifted. Lethelin tensed and as soon as he opened the door she sprang forward, knife hand leading. She placed the edge of the blade against his throat and with her free hand grabbed the back of his head and held him firm.

“Do not speak or you die here and now. Nod if you understand me.”

The wizened old gnome stared in wide-eyed shock and nodded his head, a strangled whimper emerging from his shriveled lips. His rheumy brown eyes found hers and she could see the panic in them.

“You will answer my questions quickly and quietly. Nod if you understand.”

He nodded.

“Who is paying you to watch for my companions?”

“Dakath. Elf named Dakath. Big bounty for the elf woman.”

“Your orc friend. Is he reporting to Dakath?”

“Think so. Came back into town two days ago. Been going out and back trying to find the woman, Lora, Loran, something. I dunno! Brunol, me, and a few others been hired to keep an eye out and let Dakath know if we see anything. Please don’t kill me. I was just watching. Just watching that’s all!”

Lethelin ignored his pitiful whimpers.

“Where is Dakath? Is he alone?”

“He’s over at Finn’s place. Yarlest didn’t like the smell of ‘im. Wouldn’t give him a room. Travels by hisself from what I seen. Had a few of us on the lookout for the woman! I was just a lookout, I swear to Stollar!”

Lethelin’s opinion of Yarlest rose a bit at hearing she turned down the likely assassin. She’d have to leave her a crown or two for her good deed.

“Is there anything else you think I should know, master Gwildor? Keep in mind, your life may depend on it.”

“I don’t…” Gwildor said, panicking. Sweat poured off his wrinkled old face. “I don’t… No! I know. He carries a black steel blade. Longer than I am tall, it is! And a sevith! It had five stones in it. Five stones!”

Stollar’s balls. Definitely an assassin. That made this much more complicated.

“Thank you, master Gwildor.”

With a practiced grace she removed Mira from the gnome’s neck and plunged it into his chest, neatly piercing his heart. Cutting his throat would have gotten blood all over her and she didn’t want to deal with that mess.

Gwildor gasped as she wrapped her arm around his head and covered his mouth. She held him close as he shuddered and died ignoring the stench of Yarlest’s weak ale, sweat, and piss.

“You really should have learned to mind your own business at your age, good master Gwildor,” she told him as his final breath left his body. “May Denass welcome and keep you.”

A quick search of his pockets netted her a handful of scales and the talon the orc had given him but nothing else of note. The only leather he had on him were his shoes, which she removed and tossed down the privy hole. Then, with a final glance around to make sure she was unobserved, she dragged his body over to the stall that held the clorvol. It was almost fully submerged in the sand pit constructed for just that purpose but its nose was above the ground and that’s all she cared about.

She dropped Gwildor’s body down right in front of it and stepped back several steps. It only took a moment for the beast to catch the sent of blood. Its head emerged fully from the sand and its sleepy eyes came open as it inhaled again. It spotted the corpse and surged out of the sand, grabbing the gnome deftly between its teeth, tossed its head back and swallowed him nearly whole. Lethelin tried to ignore the sound of crunching bones and wet pops.

Finally, the meal consumed, it settled back into the pit with a contented rumble which caused the sand to bubble up around it as it sunk back into its sleeping position.

Job finished, Lethelin walked casually back to the inn. Instead of walking through the door though she opted to scale the building and enter her room from the window. No sense in tempting fate twice.

***

A knock came at Allora’s door. She and Mitchell both froze and looked at it. After a moment, a female voice came through the wooden planks.

“It’s Leth, let me in. We’ve got a problem.”

Mitchell got up and unlatched the door. Lethelin stood, still in her traveling clothes with a serious look clouding her pale features. In the dim light of the lone candle Allora had lit, her hair looked like glistening strands of dark red blood.

“I am glad you are here,” Allora said to her, standing from her cot. “Mitchell and I were just debating about whether or not to wake you. We–,” her voice cut off. “Wait, you said we have a problem? What is your problem?”

“An assassin, I think. I can’t imagine anyone else that would travel the wilds alone carrying a black-steel blade.”

“You know?” Mitchell asked her, looking at Allora, then back to Lethelin. “How do you know?”

“Wait, you know?” Lethelin said and she almost looked dejected, as if she wanted to be the one to deliver the news. “What happened on your little supply run?”

“You first,” Mitchell said.

Lethelin huffed and retold the story of her time down in the inn’s common room. She told them about Gwildor and reassured them that they didn’t need to worry. She’d taken care of the little spy.

“Did you kill him?” Allora asked levelly.

“Technically, Mira did. I was just holding her at the time,” Lethelin said with a smirk.

Allora didn’t find it funny.

“We do not kill people without just cause!” Allora snapped.

“I’m not a knight!” Lethelin snapped right back. “My code is of survival. If I had let him leave who knows what he would have told the assassin? It’s bad enough that he knows we’re here already.

“We–” Allora began wanting to argue but Mitchell cut her off.

“Enough. We don’t have time for this.”

The two women glared daggers at each other but dropped the matter.

“Anyway,” Lethelin began. “How did you two find out?”

It was now the elf’s turn to recount what had happened.

“It will take him well into the night to get our provisions ready and we cannot leave without them,” Allora said. “We will not survive the mountains without that gear. And we cannot saddle up the clorvol and head to another town. We would awaken half the townsfolk. He would only catch us.”

“Couldn’t we take him?” Mitchell asked. “The four of us, I mean?”

“We do not truly know his strength,” Allora said. “He may have a squad waiting for word out in the desert, or he may truly be alone. And it is more than just defeating him. I must also protect you until you have come fully into your power.”

“I’m getting better,” Mitchell said, a little defensively.

“You are, Mitchell and I am very proud of the progress you have made. But you are not ready to face someone like him.

Allora’s voice was both conciliatory and pleading, as if she hated to tell him this but also begging him not to argue.

Mitchell let out a sigh and nodded.

“So what do we do then,” Lethelin asked. “Just wait for him to make a move?”

“Well…” Mitchell began. “I guess if we can’t flee and we can’t fight, the best thing we can do for now is try to get a little sleep and then sneak out before dawn. Maybe we’ll slip away unnoticed and lose him in the mountains. This guy, Dakath, doesn’t know we know he’s here.”

Mitchell looked between them and they both nodded.

“I agree,” Allora said. “I think that is our only option. But I think we should stay together. Would you agree to spending the night in one room?”

Lethelin looked at the size of Allora’s chambers and arched an eyebrow.

“Yours doesn’t look to be any bigger than mine,” the thief said. “All of us in here would be a tight fit. Especially if Revos joins us.”

“It would be, but I think it better than separate rooms given the circumstances.”

Lethelin looked at Mitchell as if asking what he thought.

“What the hell,” he said in English, before switching back to Common so the girls would understand him. “I was planning to sleep on the floor anyway, so it might as well be in here.”

Lethelin made a face.

“Fine, I’ll go get my stuff,” she said.

“Same,” Mitchell chimed in.

“And I will talk to Revos,” Allora said.

They exited the room into the narrow hall but not before checking it carefully for anyone that might be trying to creep up. It was clear. Mitchell headed to his room and Lethelin to hers. Allora went to Revos’s chambers and knocked softly. When she got no answer, she knocked louder. Then, a third time. Finally, there was a banging sound of something hitting the floor followed by heavy footsteps. Without warning, the door swung inward startling her.

Revos glared down at her, the vertical slits of his eyes struggling to focus.

“What?” he nearly snarled at her.

The smell of cheap ale was so strong on his breath that it made her nose burn. The cambion was completely drunk. His robe was half off, exposing his bare chest and it hung loosely around his waist, twisted almost fully backward.

“Revos?” Allora had no idea what to say. She had never seen him like this. “What… what has happened to you?”

“Does it matter?”

His words were slurred and he swayed a bit then rested a hand on the door frame of the door to steady himself.

“I… of course it does,” Allora told him. “We have a problem. Now is not a good time to be so drunk you cannot stand. This is foolishness, Revos!”

“As far as I can tell, you have a problem, not me. Everything was fine until you brought that tight little elfin ass to my tower. I was perfectly happy bedding merchant wives, merchant daughters, guardswomen, noble women, merchant lords, whomever I wanted. They were all eager. Then you arrive. Judging me! Rejecting me! And not only you, but you infected the little cutpurse as well. As if I’m not good enough for either of you!”

Allora wanted to object that it wasn’t like that, but he rolled right through her protests.

“I am from a royal line, I’ll have you know!” He burped and Allora feared he might sick up on her. But he gained control of himself and pushed on.

“Clan Heart’s Blood. Third in line to my house’s high seat! It is not for you to judge me! I was manipulating the forces of nature before you were even born! I could wave my hand and reduce half this town to ash if I so choose! You can’t even begin to comprehend the power I can wield if I want to! And I did what I had to do to survive!”

Revos thumped his chest and it reverberated with a solid thunk and glared at her.

“It is what I do! I survive. And I have. I survived the Scorching when I was only seven high suns old. Seven! I survived my own brother trying to kill me. And where is he now? Dead!” Revos spat the words. “But not me. I survived my own assassination attempt, I survived the machinations of Ekmir as he sought revenge for me bedding his wife, I survived exile in a hostile nation, and I survived countless other pathetically weak magic users seeking to test their might against me! Revos Naxus! And here I am while they rot in the ground!”

He snarled that last part as the rage built in him and she saw the tips of his horns flared with a near white-hot intensity. Allora dared not move. She had never felt in danger from Revos but she was beginning to see how his people had earned their reputation. Even as drunk as he was, if he attacked her, she did not think she would survive. Allora didn’t know what the Scorching was but the cambions were a secretive bunch and there had not been a delegation to the palace in Lorivin since early in Baylor’s reign, nearly sixty years ago. She hardly dared to breathe.

Revos’s golden eyes bored into her, filled with rage and–shockingly–pain she now saw. As she watched, a single tear fell from the corner of his right eye and boiled away to steam in a moment.

“I survived your capture, my little Onyx Knight,” His voice was quieter now and his shoulders began to slump. “Our imprisonment, my confinement in the cage, our escape, and our trek across the wastes.”

There was a long pause.

“And I survived your rejection. I think after all that, I’ve survived you enough.”

The glow from his horns faded and winked out and his chin dipped to his chest as he let out a long, ale-soaked breath.

“Revos, I–”

Like a whip, his hand slashed to air to silence her.

“No goodbyes, my lady,” Revos said, his deep bass voice tinged with melancholy. He brought his sorrowful eyes back to hers. “You go your way and I will go mine. The boy will be fine, I got him casting spells before the mountains, just as I promised I would. I equipped him with the finest sevith money could buy and a full complement of gemstones. His spell book has useful spells up to the fifth circle which should keep him occupied for the next several months, assuming he survives.”

Allora felt her nose begin to ache as it always did when she was about to cry. She tried to bury it.

“Then this is where our paths diverge,” she sniffed and looked away, staring at nothing. “Where will you go?”

“Don’t know. Maybe back to Kazig. If they’ve sent my cousin I might not be able to delay any longer. She is… persistent.”

Allora looked back up to him to see him give her the barest hint of a smile.

“She is like you in that way, my lady knight. You would have made a good cambion, Lora. You are strong, fierce, loyal, determined, and braver than anyone I have ever met. The boy doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

Allora’s eyes were wet but she didn’t care. She placed a hand on his chest, his demonic skin almost hot enough to burn her but she held it fast. She had thought him only an opportunistic scoundrel but she could see now that she had misjudged him. She had been unable to see past his bluster and bravado and the stereotypes about his race.

“Safe travels, my friend,” Allora sad sadly. “I hope to see you again.”

“Be it Stollar’s will.”

Without another word, he stepped back from her and closed the door.