Slithering Maze 38: Fear's Gambit

Medilus 5, 1278: Arth Prayogar’s Council Building. Some called it a building. I called it a volcano ready to explode…

Author’s Note: Kingdom of the Slithering Maze is a serialized fiction story that is a part of a collection called the Windtracer Tales. It follows the adventures of Tela Kioni and her crew dealing with expeditions in and around the world of Awldor. There they hunt down lost, and possibly lethal, relics of the Ancient Order, a near-mythical kingdom lost to the centuries old cataclysm, the Great Collapse.

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Previously: With the plan in motion, Tela waits in a slow line to suspected disaster with Liru and the others. While there, she quizzes the shaman about the truth, starting with the Iraxi and how it actually works. The truth is grim, with anyone who uses the Iraxi is horribly altered, twisted into a nightmare. But once they are allowed inside the council building, the stage is set, even—to Tela’s wary surprise—the appearance of Rima Nimad. Worried the plan is about to come apart, Tela advances across the room to face Rima, even as the others put their plan into motion…

Medilus 5, 1278: Arth Prayogar’s Council Building. Some called it a building. I called it a volcano ready to explode…

I was tired. Not take-a-nap tired, but right to the bone tired. It’d been days of staying two steps ahead of death like I owed him a debt. All I wanted was to be cocooned in a warm blanket with a fresh cup of coffee and a good book. But no—I had to deal with this buffalo dung.

This wasn’t archeology. It was babysitting pit vipers.

I navigated the stream of people that flowed through the Council building foyer. They moved in clumps, like schools of land-based fish. Some drifted between influential people for opportunity, or the real currency of the realm—information. Others wandered past, basking in the glow of a trade-city’s inner workings, like watching a heated game of dice.

Then there was Rima, the undead shark among the fish.

We approached each other, stopping barely an Ancient Order meter or two apart. Close enough for conversation—or killing if the moment needed. Rima’s thin smile was like a sharp razor. The swish of her red and black monk’s robes was the perfect promise of death, topping off the moment.

“Tela, I’m almost surprised to see you here,” she crooned.

I clasped my hands behind me and rocked a little on my heels. It wasn’t helpful—beyond giving my nerves something to do.

“As opposed to sitting on my backside in a moldy cell? Maybe chasing down my journals you swiped only to meet a cutthroat you sent to kill me?”

Rima chuckled, idly waving a hand at my remarks like shooing a fly.

“Please, my dear. Allow me some credit. I understand how dangerous you are. It’s three assassins, not one.” She interlaced her fingers in front of her. “Though I did bet my mage, Sherkus, that three wasn’t quite enough.”

I shot her a tart smile.

“Well, it’s good to be noticed.” I glanced to my right, staring a quick hole into Gregori Elkerton, who was lost in some bombastic explanation to a crowd. Then I locked eyes with the lich. “Your plan with the overblown ego on centaur legs over there isn’t a secret.”

Rima sniffed haughtily, crossing her arms.

“It’ll be over in minutes. The Chancellor will be replaced. Your viprin shaman burned. Two Iraxi would’ve made this easier, but one will do fine. Elkerton will still be melted inside out, just like the Jata kingdom. Then both can be reshaped like fresh clay.”

She lanced a wicked look at me.

“But you knew that, since we’re really the same.”

“We’re nothing alike,” I glared, feeling her words sizzle under my skin.

“No?” Rima’s smile turned slick. “You’ve murdered one of my fellow liches, used dangerous lost knowledge to accomplish your goals, even manipulated people and situations to get what you want…”

“Improvise isn’t the same as manipulate,” I snapped back.

Rima inclined her head. “Fairly called. Maybe you’re not seasoned enough… yet.”

I fought back a hot remark. The damn lich got to me, knocking me off the plan. I swallowed a shudder, taking a slow breath.

“Sure, I take risks. But that’s because preserving history should support people, not dominate them. People choose the better path if given a chance and the truth. Power comes with responsibility. It doesn’t justify itself, Rima.” I grinned. “Also, I’m not an egotistical walking corpse.”

Nearby, I heard Elkerton’s voice explode in a tirade. A glance told me everything I didn’t want to know. The gemstone—the heart of the Iraxi on his forearm—glowed a hellish red. By the Lady Deep, it was happening, and all I could do was banter with a lich. Inwardly, I willed Mikasi to already be there, pouring slime over Elkerton’s bracer.

I glared at Rima and palmed a thin dagger I kept hidden in my sleeve. The lich cast a dismissive look at the blade, arching an eyebrow at me.

“How many people will die today because of your stubbornness?”

I gave her a casual shrug.

“As few as possible—though for you, I’m glad to make an exception.” A frown darkened my face as I pinched the air in front of my forehead. “After all, I’ve killed a lich before.”

Rima tensed, reaching for a tiny vial of blood she wore on a chain around her neck. The woman’s fingers tingled as blood magic threads swirled around them.

“With what, a dagger? Your untrained mind magic?”

A clatter of metal and swearing erupted from Elkerton’s direction. I stepped away from Rima, dagger in hand, giving the commotion a quick look.

In the middle of the small knot of people, Kiyosi had tipped, sending mugs of ale everywhere. Most of the ale splattered across the floor, the rest bathed the crowd—particularly one Gregori Elkerton. As the auditor verbally abused Kiyosi’s shape, intelligence, and ancestry, Mikasi quietly got to work.

The little halfling inventor slipped up beside Elkerton and, quick as a wink, emptied his vial of green goo across the bracer. As soon as the slime touched leather, the gemstone flared a furious red. Elkerton didn’t notice until two heartbeats later.

I threw a wicked grin at the lich, giving her a mock salute.

“No. Just by getting you to talk. See, I only had to buy time. I think your pet centaur’s having some magical performance problems.”

Rima’s eyes went wide as she shot a startled look at Elkerton. I saw she wanted to step in and stop Mikasi, but couldn’t—not without giving away her involvement.

Elkerton sputtered, eyes blazing, as he tried to summon the Iraxi’s power. The crystal glowed a furious red, smoke curling off the bracer like overcooked meat. Orange sparks shot from the thing as if born from hot, hammered metal. The bitter scent of rancid, fried eggs wasn’t the smell of victory I expected, but I took it anyway.

“What did you do?” the lich snarled at me, face a mask of rage.

“Me? Solved a problem by being one. Rima, those Iraxi belong in a museum.” I tossed a lopsided smile at her. “Technically? So do you.”

I really should learn to quit when I’m ahead—because that was when everything went sideways.

The seven members of the Jata ruling Council headed for their inner chamber. Not one cast a glance at Elkerton or his embarrassing display. At least, not until he started yelling for the Council guards.

“Guards! Arrest Chancellor Fel!” the auditor yelled.

“No,” Rima hissed. “Not now, you pompous idiot. It’s too soon!”

All seven representatives stopped in their tracks in a clatter of hooves, stunned as the rest of us. They turned, murmuring angrily, as gasps and conversations rippled through the crowd. One dapple furred centaur stepped away from the group, expression dark as a thunderstorm.

He was an older man in a dark, wine-red tunic, salt and pepper hair cropped close. Like the rest of the representatives, he wore a powder-white scarf of office littered with gold and silver trade symbols—which I took to be Jata marks of authority. Given the way the others looked at him with surprise or unease, I knew that was Chancellor Fel.

“On what charge?” Chancellor Fel demanded, stomping the stone floor with a hoof.

“High treason against the kingdom and its purity!” Elkerton snapped back, jabbing a finger at the chancellor, then at Rima. “Conspiracy with a lich to overthrow the Council—and concealing foreign grave-robbers inside sacred ruins! Grave-robbers such as the Windtracers!” The auditor reached into a belt pouch, yanking out a tied bundle of documents. “I’ve reports and incidents here going back months!”

Elkerton punctuated this with a savage grin at me. “Arrest them all. Especially her.”

“We could both stab him?” I offered to Rima. The lich ignored me.

Council guards in blue tabards rushed from either side of the room, invading the crowd. They headed for Chancellor Fel, me, Rima—basically anyone Elkerton accused. Hooves cracked like thunder against the floor. The onlookers went from calm to screaming panic in seconds.

“Aile Shavat!” I swore.

Glaring at Elkerton, I sheathed my dagger and yanked loose my whip. Before I could use it, one of the Council guards found me.

He sliced for my head. The guard missed—I didn’t. After a step back, I snapped my whip against the centaur’s side.

The guard screeched in surprise, rearing back as his front hooves kicked the air. Screams rattled around me as the serving staff ran for anywhere safe. Two more pops of my whip made him give ground—granting me a moment’s peace to get my bearings.

In short? Everything was a ripe mess.

Blue-tabard Council guards were everywhere. Some had attacked Rima, others fought against the Trade-Wardens who had surrounded the Chancellor. Nearby, Elkerton had finally noticed the goo on the Iraxi and was desperately trying to wipe it off—which, since it was basically slime, smeared across him. That last would’ve been fun to watch, had my life not been on the line.

The worst part of all were the locals who’d come to watch the Council of Seven proceedings. Spectators had turned into a panicked mob, scurrying everywhere in harm’s way.

“Rima and Elkerton are the real problem. How do I solve one with the other?” I hissed under my breath.

Then I saw Elkerton’s eyes glow a bright orange, drawing on the Iraxi’s power to try to burn off the slime.

The Iraxi.

I stared at the finger-sized crystal glowing the same orange-red as Elkerton’s eyes.

“Oh, I’ve such an incredibly stupid idea,” I muttered, grinning, while bounding on the balls of my feet.

I started toward Elkerton, but he spotted me first. The slime was only half-gone—enough to let Elkerton summon a trickle of the Iraxi’s fire elemental power. He snarled something I didn’t hear, then galloped over to a newly arrived Council guard, stealing a crossbow.

“Crossbow!” I shouted, diving for cover under a long, honey-colored wooden table carved with ornate scrollwork against a wall. A crossbow string sang before a bolt stabbed the table a second later. Another clattered across the tiles with a hard crack.

I scrambled to the edge of safety under my makeshift barrier in time to see a Trade-Warden—another centaur—crash into Elkerton. He grabbed for the crossbow as Elkerton unleashed a blast of bright, orange-white magic threads from his hand. The Trade-Warden screamed as the searing-hot magic tried to boil him alive.

“Oh, that’s got to stop,” I muttered. “He’ll burn his way right to Chancellor Fel.”

The Trade-Warden and the auditor were too far to reach with my whip. Rushing out from under the table, I looked around for something I could use. I grabbed a nearby serving tray, hurling it like a discus. Mugs went flying, washing the floor in ale.

Elkerton turned toward me in time to take a hardwood serving tray to the mouth. The man stumbled sideways, eyes crossed. All around us, panicked locals turned into a mob running for the doors. Their screams echoed off the stone walls in deafening waves.

Purple-garbed centaurs of Herd Tolvana appeared in the doorway, shoving the innocent aside or trampling them as they charged into battle.

We were now outnumbered two to one by Herd Tolvana soldiers and Council guards. Worse, Elkerton wiped blood from his mouth, yelling in rage. The Iraxi burned sun-bright in reaction, cooking off the goo.

In the other direction, Rima stabbed one of the Council guards. As the life left the centaur’s eyes, she yanked blood magic threads from his wounds with a savage glee.

Everywhere in between was a sea of bodies—some running for safety, others fighting or dying. I rubbed a hand over my mouth, looking for a path through. There wasn’t one.

At least, not yet.

“Ki! Atha! Skarri! Make a hole!” I yelled. Grabbing a discarded shield from the floor, I ran toward the center of the chaos.

Time flowed like cold syrup. I ducked a sword aimed at my head, then sidestepped around another. A Herd Tolvana soldier galloped into my path with a sneer. I charged right at him, armored by faith in my friends.

Turns out, my faith wasn’t misplaced.

Atha crashed into the soldier like a one-minotaur stampede, knocking the centaur aside with a crack of bone. A Council guard tried to run me down before Kiyosi beat the man about the head and ears with a spear. That guard quickly decided he had better places to be.

Mikasi hurled small green stones with a hand sling at nearby soldiers and guards that got too close. The stones shattered like eggs on impact, splattering more of that foul-smelling goo over whatever they hit.

Skarri slithered past me, cutting into two guards before slamming a third with her tail. As I ran, I winced each time she moved—especially as blood welled up along her bandages.

Then I was through.

Gregori Elkerton was ahead of me, stalking toward the Chancellor. The madman wasn’t in a hurry, each hoof step sizzled the stone floor with raw heat. Ahead of him, Rhen and Nurkes made a two-person wall of muscle, protecting Chancellor Fel. Behind them, Liru was urging the Chancellor to leave.

“Elkerton!” I bellowed.

The auditor, drunk on raw magical power, wheeled around in a rage. He stepped toward me as I lashed out with my whip, hitting him in the knee.

A sharp pop slapped the air, leaving Elkerton screaming in pain as he stumbled forward. When he went to rise, I slammed the shield against the side of his head with a sharp whack. His eyes rolled for a moment, and the burning, molten magic threads sputtered out.

I glanced over my shoulder at Rima. She’d just murdered one of the Council guards with a blast of blood magic, and locked eyes with me. I bashed the shield down twice on Elkerton’s arm where he wore the Iraxi. Heat poured from the stone like a searing river, warping the shield’s metal and wood like beeswax.

The auditor grunted in pain, then roared in my face—eyes burning like a hot forge. I pinched the air in front of my forehead, pulling silver mind magic threads to life.

I grinned at him.

“Hey there. Miss me?”

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Windtracer Tales is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In fact, it considers itself rather fancy and quite proud of itself. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.

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