She nodded and Mitchell could see her eyes examining the darkness in search of other sentries or ambushers. The wind was the only sound they heard at this early hour as it blew through the shabby buildings around them. Here and there, he could make out the creak of a window shutter or sign as they rocked in the near steady breeze. Nothing on the street moved and shadows cloaked everything.
"Let's go then," Mitchell said. "Dawn won't wait for us. We'll move together. Be ready."
That last part made him cringe a little. Be ready? Of course, they would be ready. They were strung as tightly as a bow. Still, it had sounded good in his mind. Like it was something the hero ought to say. They always talked like that in the movies, anyway.
Mitchell took the first step and they followed him, Allora on his right and Lethelin on his left. Her cloak was still up so anyone more than a couple of meters away wouldn't even see her. Their first few steps were cautious as they tried to look everywhere at once. Mitchell wanted to be holding a spell at the ready but Allora had warned him that the glow would be visible. There were krisas and seviths that kept the gemstones covered but they weren't popular since it made swapping stones in an emergency a difficult task and one that usually cost the caster's life.
Mitchell was just beginning to think their plan had worked as they neared the merchant shop when he caught a glimmer of light from down the street to his right. Allora noticed at the same time and uttered a cry as she flung her sword arm up horizontally across her body, the stone in the pommel glowing like a mini sun in the pre-dawn darkness. A few inches out in front of her a dome shimmered into existence. At almost the same instant, purple-black chords of energy struck the conjured shield with enough force that Allora staggered back and into him. There was a ripping sound and the shield broke under the assault, but it had done its job and stopped the attack.
"Stollar's hairy asshole," Lethelin whispered harshly from behind. "Four of them just stepped out from some sort of concealment spell."
Mitchell kept his eyes trained on the tall man who was walking down the center of the street. Three more men emerged from the shadows behind him.
"Three down this street," Mitchell told her. "Plus our boy Dakath, I think."
The one Mitchell pegged as Dakath was definitely a cut above the lackeys he had with him. He was at least as tall as Allora and had broad shoulders. His silver-white hair hung loose around his shoulders and his face was almost angelic in its angular pale beauty. In the paltry light of the lone lantern of Nothok's shop, his eyes were silver in color. He wore form-fitting black leather armor and from his right hand extended a long blade made with a black metal that reflected almost no light. In the darkness, Mitchell had to strain to see it. The man's cold eyes were locked on Allora.
"I would have been disappointed if that had worked," he said as he strode forward like he was out for a walk in the country.
Chapter 31
Rather than the deep and ominous intonation Mitchell had expected, Dakath's voice was almost lilting and feminine. It was clearly male, but it was the kind of male he used to see on K-pop boy band members back home. However, while they had been sculpted by the finest plastic surgeons in South Korea, Dakath's masculine beauty was all natural. If it weren't for the unusually long and pointed Spock ears, he would have fit right in on a fashion runway.
The men around him looked to be all local. Their clothing appeared to be whatever they'd shown up in that day and they carried a mishmash of weapons. Four had swords but only two of them looked like they knew how to use them given their stances. The other two looked less confident, their backbones stiffened only by the superior numbers. The other men held axes of various sizes but again only one or two of them looked like they had experience using them. Mitchell was somewhat surprised at himself that he could determine just by how they were standing who possessed ability and who did not. The hours of drilling had done more than teach him how to hold his sword, it seemed.
Dakath had stopped about thirty feet away and regarded them with an appraising eye. He squinted past Mitchell and then grunted.
"That is a clever disguise you have there, little human."
"You like it?" Lethelin asked. "Come a little closer and I'll show you how it works."
The men with him jerked in surprise. To their eyes, the voice had come from nowhere. Whatever skill Dakath had used to see her, the others didn't share it.
The tall elf chuckled.
"That would not go well for you. But you are not the one I was paid to find and bring in. I'll grant you your life if you leave now. This is the only offer you will get. I am here for the knight and her companion. You don't need to die today."
Mitchell heard Allora inhale sharply and he thought he knew why. She had made her distrust of their companion clear from the beginning. Lethelin had made a deal with them, and had sworn on it, but could they really trust her? He hoped they could. That moment in the gardens at Besari had felt genuine. Like something had really passed between them. Mitchell had no way of knowing if it was more to her, though. This also wasn't helped by the fact that she had been acting distant with him ever since. Would she abandon them now? The silence stretched. It felt like hours but in reality was only a few seconds.
"It will hurt me to kill someone as pretty as yourself," she finally said from just behind Mitchell's shoulder. "But I'll get over it."
Mitchell almost sagged in relief. She was not going to run.
Dakath's thin pale lips stretched into an almost feral grin but he didn't answer. He turned his attention back to Allora.
"The preference is to bring you in alive," he said. "However, I think we both know you don't intend to surrender. Still, I'll give you this chance. Call it a courtesy extended to the last Onyx Knight."
Before Allora could respond the man reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out three small black stones. He tossed them one at a time about halfway between himself and the three of them. They landed on the hard-packed dirt with small thumps.
Allora sucked in a breath at the sight of them and he could see her start to quiver with rage. Dakath noticed and smirked wickedly. He brought his sword up to the ready position.
Mitchell had a sneaking suspicion of what those stones were and he knew why she was so angry.
"If you keep him occupied, I think Lethelin and I can handle the others," Mitchell whispered to Allora. He knew she was close enough to hear him with her superior senses, but didn't know if Dakath could or not. "Once they're dealt with we'll assist."
The only answer were the lights on Allora's krisa which began to glow. Mitchell also summoned the one defensive spell he knew, the arcane missile and, almost as if on instinct, everyone leapt into action at the same time.
Mitchell flung out his hand and released three arcane missiles at the orc to the left of Dakath. At the same time Lora seemed to disappear and reappear just in front of Dakath, sword already in motion. Only one of Mitchell's missiles found their target but it hit him squarely in his unarmored chest, sending him to the ground. Mitchell moved quickly, unsure if his opponent would rise again. He moved away from the assassin and towards the four men that had come up behind them. He looked for Lethelin but with her cloak she was all but invisible. One man was down with a dagger through his throat and two more were moving back to back trying to find her in the dark. The third one was charging at Mitchell, sword already swinging down.
Some cold, analytical part of Mitchell's mind analyzed the thug as he watched the man coming at him. It was almost like time slowed down.
"He's swinging from the shoulder, not the elbow. He thinks it makes the strike more powerful," the voice in his head said. "Arm overextended, leaving his chest wide open. Running heel to toe, he'll be off balance. Take the strike, deflect to the side, punch in the throat, stab through the chest as he staggers back. Aim for the heart."
All this in barely a second. Mitchell blinked and almost as if his arm didn't need the command, he brought his blade up to accept a wild swing from the hired muscle. The man was yelling a sort of war cry but it sounded far away to Mitchell. The blade's blow sent shockwaves up to his shoulder, but he didn't hit any harder than Allora had and he found he knew how to absorb it. Twisting his body and the sword at an angle towards the ground to deflect the downward force of the man's strike, Mitchell could close the distance with him as his enemy's momentum propelled him into arm's reach. Just like he had imagined, his left hand formed a fist and jabbed his opponent in the throat with one quick, solid strike.
There was a wet crunching sound as something inside broke under the force of the blow and the man staggered back, a look of incomprehension on his grizzled face. He dropped his sword as both hands came up to clutch at his ruined neck. Mitchell was so shocked it had actually worked that he almost forgot to finish the job. He lunged forward extending his arm just as he had practiced hundreds of times and the blade slipped into his stomach just below his sternum with almost no resistance. The man tried to scream but his throat was smashed and all that came out was a gurgle. Mitchell stood back up, withdrawing his weapon from the man's body and stared in disbelief as he fell over. The whole thing had taken barely six seconds and the man was dying, bleeding out on the ground in front of him. He'd never killed anyone before. Oh fuck, he'd just killed someone! Technically the man was still alive but he had only moments left. He--
