Shades of Doom, chapter 4

IV: The Talos Cult.

'Are you going to the meeting tonight?' At these words the assassin pricked up his ears. Those were the words he had been waiting for for the better part of two weeks. After following the drunken legionnaires he had returned home for some rest and a few small preparations, the following night he had spent trying to find a safe hiding spot inside the barracks. Through a maintenance hatch in the roof of the building he had lowered himself to the rafters that held up the ceiling, from there he had found a place that was hidden in the shadows, where neither the unsteady light of the evening torches nor the light of the sun, pouring in through the windows by day, could dispel the eternal midnight. There he had waited for almost two weeks, only going out occasionally to find some provisions. As he heard the hushed question he felt that his patience was finally beginning to pay off.

'Planning to, but I have to do my rounds on the East Wall first so I won't be there until close to midnight. You go ahead and tell Flavius that I'll be a bit later.'

'If there's anything left to discuss by then,' said the first voice. 'But I'll put the message through.'

'Considering the current state of the empire, I should say there's more than enough to talk about for the Cult. But anyway, I'm off to do my rounds, I'll be joining later.' And with that the second soldier left the barracks.

'Yes, plenty to talk about,' mused the remaining soldier as he sat down on his bunk. At dusk he put on his boots, buckled up his short sword and left the barracks. Observing his preparations the assassin had already crept out from his shadowy recluse and traced his way like a cat along the rafters back to the hatch in the ceiling. Now, as the imperial soldier made for the door, Hulhra opened inch by inch the trapdoor and made his way through it up to the roof.

Skimming the rooftops in the failing light of the setting sun the assassin, like a detached shadow of his quarry, followed the imperial soldier on his secretive pilgrimage. Ever north they moved, these conspirators. For conspirators they were, both bound for the same destination yet each with different purposes.

'Walking the streets alone in these parts can be dangerous Imperial.' The voice came out of the shadows to the right of the soldier. 'I'll decide what's dangerous and what isn't,' he replied calmly.

'Hoho, did you hear that Brennan? Our soldier here thinks danger is a matter of choice.'

'Yeah just like happiness and success,' a mocking voice came from behind the soldier. 'Maybe it's time to show him a bit of our reality, maybe that'll change his mind.' Upon those words three men appeared from out of the shadows, surrounding the soldier. 'Maybe you're right soldier, maybe danger is a matter of choice, but around these parts we are the ones who decide what choices you have. Right now you have the choice between giving up that pretty silver shortsword you're carrying or danger. What'll it be soldier?'

Without another word the imperial drew his sword and took a defensive stance. 'Danger it is then.' the first man said, brandishing a saber in the light of the torches.

Meanwhile Hulhra looked down upon the scene with mixed feelings. Should he intervene and help the soldier thereby giving away his position and alarming the soldier to the fact that he was being followed or should he watch the progress of the fight and run the risk of the soldier getting killed thus losing his only lead to the Talos Cult. But whatever his decision, he had to make it quickly for as this very dilemma struggled in Hulhra's mind the first attacker was already charging at the soldier. But the soldier made it obvious that his silver shortsword wasn't merely a trinket, quickly sidestepping the incoming attack he guided the man's blade with his own and led him into the path of one of the opponents to his rear. In doing so however, the soldier had overlooked one crucial point, instead of dodging the attack by stepping to the right he had stepped out to the left leaving his back all but undefended against the third assailant who now brandished his two knives to strike the fatal blow. But as the man was about to move forward his knees gave way which, together with his forward momentum, caused him to slump face down on the cobbled street, a small trickle of blood tracing down his neck. The soldier's eyes darted from the enemies still standing to the fallen thug and back again, a sense of unease crept through him but his blade remained steady. Reaching down while keeping his eyes on his assailants the soldier picked up one of the knives of the dead thug. The other two thugs were spreading trying to outflank him. With a quick motion the soldier flung the knife at the thug to his left and dashed towards the one on his right. By the time the first had recovered from the shock of the blade flying towards him his companion was dead and the soldier's sword gleamed red in the first light of the moon. The remaining thug let out a curse and ran. Wiping his sword clean the soldier sheathed it. Then, moving over to the corpse of the thug whose knife he had taken he noticed a small throwing star lodged into the base of the man's skull. Pulling it out the soldier squinted his eyes, looking around the deserted street. No one was there but that was exactly what worried him, he wiped the throwing star clean and pocketed it, then he set forth again for the cult's hideout.

'You're late,' said the large man at the door, 'and where's Verius?'

'He be late,' said the soldier, 'has to do his rounds on the East Wall, won't be here before midnight. Sorry I'm late, I ran into some trouble on the way here.'

'What kind of trouble?'

'Three thugs, but nothing I couldn't handle.' The soldier thought it better not to mention the mysterious throwing star that saved his life. Flavius would likely go mad if he told him that.

'Never mind, at least you're here now. Come in.' Flavius said.

Hulhra darted a quick look across the street and seeing no one was there he dropped to the ground. He moved over to the door and listened for a while. No sound came from the other side. He had heard chain rattle and a bolt shoot into position meaning the door was locked from the inside and that lockpicks were useless. Looking closely at the building Hulhra noticed that the windowsills protruded a few inches, which might give him enough support. Loosing no time Hulhra climbed back onto the roof and positioned himself above a window, then he dropped, facing the wall and grabbed hold of the window sill. Pulling himself up he postitioned his left foot on the windowsill and, pressing his left shoulder against the glass, steadied himself by pressing his weight down with his right hand thereby effectively wedging his body between sill and lintel. From this uncomfortable position he tested one side of the window with his left hand, after some time of working the tumbler that locked the window from the inside with the thin blade of a throwing knife one half of the window swung outwards. A few seconds he sat perched on the windowsill listening for sounds from within the house, then dropped noiselessly to the floor. Making his way through the house he found it to be deserted, no one had lived here for years. Finally he reached a trapdoor that presumably led to a cellar. Opening the cellar and following a short hallway Hulhra came upon a small room where slightly over a dozen men were gathered around a small marble altar.

(c)2005 Deadyawn