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Brask bared his teeth and yanked his axe from between the split section of the couch. He shouted in rage and leaped at Drisk, but the thief had been ready and sprung away. The axe hit nothing but empty air, but that hardly stopped the mercenary leader. He continued forward, moving over the couch as if it were a speck of dust.
Drisk continued to move away. At first, Brask thought he was afraid to face him, but when he backed away and two more thieves appeared from the shadows and moved near him, he knew the guild leader was just moving toward reinforcements.
“Incapacitate him,” Drisk said to the two men, who were dressed in all black leathers and had their faces hidden behind black masks. “I want to kill him myself.”
Brask knew these two men were more than just thieves, that these were Drisk’s assassins, men in the guild that were meant for only one thing: murder. They even looked more dangerous than the others, brandishing dark blades and dressed in leather armor with strange runes etched into the material. No matter, Brask thought to himself. They may look different, he said to himself, but they will bleed just like every other man.
The assassins threw themselves at Brask. Both of them wielded daggers, but for their main weapons, one held a longsword and the other a rapier and they spun them with expert skill. Brask halted his forward movement and raised his axe, ready to defend himself. He had fought multiple opponents before and readied himself for a hard fight. The upcoming fight would have been even more difficult if Drisk would have entered the fray, but he just stood back and watched, hands resting on the hilts of his own weapons. Brask couldn’t tell if he was a coward or genius, waiting for the others to wear him down before making a killing stroke. Whatever the reason, Brask quickly pushed the thoughts of the guild leader from his mind and concentrated on the two assassins, and their blades, coming at him.
The two men came in at the same time, one swinging high and the other low. Instead of blocking completely, Brask threw his lower body back, avoiding the attack from the man on the right. He then swung his axe around in a mighty arc, almost decapitating the assassin on the left who was aiming at his chest. The man just managed to stop himself before meeting the razor sharp blade. As it flew by his throat, missing by a single inch, the assassin stepped back, not nearly as aggressive as before.
Brask righted himself and brought his axe back towards his body. The assassin that had attacked low moved in, determined not to give his opponent any opportunity to recover, but he had never fought against Brask, who needed no time to recover. The leader of the Knights knew that if you paused, even for a second, in any battle, you weren’t likely to last long, so he continued moving, in any way he could.
As he pulled back, the assassin came in, but instead of continuing to retreat, Brask threw out a kick, smashing his foot into the assassin’s shin. The man, caught by surprise by the odd maneuver, stumbled but quickly recovered from the impact. He growled in annoyance and started his attack anew. By the time he came back in, Brask was waiting.
Wanting to keep the man off guard, Brask charged, swinging wildly. The assassin met him head on and their weapons collided in a shower of sparks. The thief had to block with both weapons and still Brask’s strength almost smashed him off his feet. He slid back a few inches but tensed his muscles and managed to come to a stop. Brask let loose a growl of his own and pushed with all his might. This time the assassin lost his footing and stumbled backwards. Brask went in for the kill, seeing his opponent’s hands flung out to the side, but the other assassin joined the battle and attacked Brask in anger. Brask had to abandon his first attack and shift his swing. He successfully parried the two blades but the assassin had successfully locked his axe against his sword and dagger, keeping him occupied while his companion came in swinging from the side.
Seeing the blades flying towards his face, Brask suddenly pulled back. When the force pushing against him vanished, the assassin stumbled forward, right into the path of his companion. Brask thought he had them but his opponents were quick and the man coming from the side adjusted his swing. The dagger went wide but the sword sliced across Brask’s shoulder. He hissed in pain and moved away, but they followed, pressing him. Brask let loose a deep snarl that made him sound like a wild tiger and pressed back.
He swept his axe around with all his might, making the two assassins leapt away. They quickly recovered and continued their assault on the large man, but Brask just kept swinging and coming at them, making them scatter. They moved all around the room, sometimes coming within a few feet of Drisk. When they neared the guild leader would move away, doing his best to avoid getting involved. Brask managed to sneak a glance in Drisk’s direction and saw something that renewed his strength. The man looked scared.
But despite Drisk’s worried expression, Brask knew this battle had already gone on way too long. He would tire long before both assassins and at any moment Drisk was surely going to become involved, probably when his back was turned. Brask quickly made a decision that he knew was going to hurt.
His next swing was not nearly as powerful as it could have been and his axe fell well short. The closest assassin took the opportunity and jumped in, swinging his dagger from overhead. He would have swung his sword as well but he sacrificed one blade for a sure hit with the other. Brask knew he was going to be wounded no matter what he did, but that was just what he wanted.
He raised both arms up, right into the path of the dagger. The blade punched through his left forearm, sinking in to the hilt and spraying blood across Brask’s face and chest. He clenched his teeth in pain, but kept his arm up, which forced the assassin’s arm up as well. Brask then pulled, which brought another surge of pain coursing down his arm, and the assassin fell toward him.
Brask’s right hand came away from his axe and shot forward. He grabbed the throat of the assassin and squeezed with all his might. The man tried to scream in surprise, but his voice was suddenly shut off as his larynx was crushed. Seeing his companion in the grip of the mercenary, the other assassin swung at Brask’s arm, trying to break his grip, but Brask had been expecting that and threw his leg out. His foot connected with the assassin’s stomach and sent him reeling backwards. As that assassin stumbled away, the other one let go of both weapons and grabbed Brask’s arm, trying to pry him loose, but his grip was like an iron clasp.
Brask suddenly sensed something behind him and kicked out without even looking to see who it was. A rush of satisfaction went through him as he heard Drisk’s gasp of breath.
Knowing he had little time to act, Brask pulled the held assassin toward him. He paused only a single second then pushed him back. The man fell away, gasping for breath, trying desperately to draw in air, but his throat had totally collapsed. As he fought for life, Brask took his axe in both hands and looped off the man’s head, taking half of each of his hands with it. Before the headless corpse had hit the ground, the mercenary leader turned, facing Drisk and the other assassin. Drisk was still struggling to draw in breath, but the other assassin had recovered and went to return to combat, but stopped suddenly, his eyes scanning the area behind Brask. The mercenary leader did not turn. He already knew what the assassin saw.
To the left, Vistalas and Ristil stood ready, bloody weapons in hand. Thorstar was on Brask’s right, his leg and sword both dripping blood. The big man wasn’t even favoring his wounded leg. He just stood as solid as an almost seven-foot statue of stone, ready to add more layers of blood to his blade. Though the assassin was a trained killer and expert swordsman, the sight before him would have given any warrior pause.
“What are you waiting for?” Drisk shouted at his assassin, motioning for the man to attack. The assassin looked from the four men before him to his leader and back again. As Brask grabbed the dagger in his forearm and pulled it free, without so much as a grunt, the assassin started backing away towards the shadows. He knew the battle was lost and wasn’t about to die for nothing.
“What are you doing?” Drisk screamed in anger
and desperation, but his words were lost on the assassin as he melded into the shadows and disappeared.
“Now it’s just you and me,” Brask said, taking a menacing step toward the guild leader. Drisk stepped away, visibly shaking. Then he started to turned, to run away from certain death. There were exits all over the building and if he could just reach one, he could lose the killers behind him in the alleyways of Pelartis.
Before he took single step, still in the midst of swinging around, pain suddenly exploded behind his right knee. He shrieked in surprise and terror. His knee buckled and he fell flat on his face. He quickly managed to prop himself up on his elbows. He looked down to see a dagger sticking out from behind his knee.
“Going somewhere?” Ristil said, withdrawing his hand from the air.
Drisk looked up from the floor to find Brask towering over him. The mercenary said nothing. He just reached down, grabbed Drisk around the throat, and lifted him off his feet. My gods! Drisk said to himself. The man doesn’t even act as if his wounded arm is a hindrance!
Drisk looked down the length of Brask’s arms, one bloodied from an assassins’ dagger. His eyes followed the strong muscles and stopped when he reached the flaming balls of fire that were the eyes of Brask Battlebeard. Then, suddenly and painfully, he was jerked forward, stopping only when his face was an inch from the mercenary.
“Where’s the assassin?” he asked in a calm voice. Drisk had expected the man to scream at him or spit the words with malice, but he spoke as if he was speaking to a long lost friend. Somehow, that made it worse.
“Wait!” Drisk pleaded. “I’ll...I’ll tell you anything! Just don’t–”
Brask suddenly shook him, cutting off his words. The jerking motions caused the dagger in Drisk’s leg to slip out, which sent icicles of discomfort running up his leg.
“Where?” Brask said again calmly.
“All right!” Drisk almost screamed, his voice rising to the pitch of a frightened woman. “I’ll tell you what you want! He’s–”
Drisk’s voice suddenly died and his body shook. Brask only wondered what happened for half a second before the tip of a dagger shot out of Drisk’s throat, spraying Brask’s neck and chest with blood. The guild leader spasmed once then his body went limp. Brask dropped the man and took a step back, looking to where the thrown dagger had come from.
“There!” Ristil said, pointing to a shadowed corner on the second level. All eyes fell on the corner, to the dark form hiding in the darkness. No one could make out any detail, but then the figure bolted from the shadows, running across the balcony.
It was the second assassin, or at least another man dressed exactly like him. He ran full out, heading for a door standing at the end of the balcony.
“Shoot him!” Brask shouted, turning to Vistalas and Ristil, the only two of the Knights that had ranged weapons. Both men were moving before Brask had finished his sentence.
In seconds, two arrows were flying through the air, with two more already nocked and ready. They looked to be flying true, but at the last instant, the assassin slowed, ducked, and leaped, avoiding the first two arrows with relative ease. The second two came right behind, but again, the man easily avoided them. Then the door was open and he was gone.
“Outside!” Brask shouted, running toward the door they came through. The others followed, hoping they would be able to catch the assassin, or at least follow his trail. The man was their only hope to salvage at least something from this whole debacle. Without him and the information he obviously held, for he had killed the only man about to spill everything, they would be back to square one. They needed him to find Graeak’s thief.
They burst out the heavy doors and ran around the building, heading to where the assassin should have emerged. They moved through the alleyway, looking for any signs of the man’s passing, but all was silent and not a single sign of him could be seen. It was as if the man had just disappeared.
“Find him! Brask shouted. “Find...something!”
They searched for a good ten minutes, but came up with nothing. Not even Ristil could find the faintest signs of him moving through the area, through any area for that matter.
“He could have teleported,” Vistalas said. “Or perhaps he was a shadow jumper.”
“Either way,” Ristil said in anger, “he’s gone. We got nothing.”
Brask looked into the alleyway, where the man should have gone. He turned and looked back at the guild hideout. He eventually turned his gaze into the city.
“Let’s go,” he said in anger. “We have to get out of here before any of the other thieves return. Let’s hope Dex and Jannda have had better luck.”
They retrieved their mounts from inside the hideout and left the guild behind them, heading back into the city. Brask held a little bit of hope that Dex and Jannda would be more successful than they were, but then he remembered that they had Druzeel with them.
“Damn it!” he silently cursed. With that bumbling idiot with them, they would be lucky to learn what day tomorrow was.
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