Slithering Maze 39: Always bet on a Windtracer…

Medilus 5, 1278: Arth Prayogar’s Council Building. It’s what you don’t see that can kill you…

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: Dead tired and down to the wire, Tela confronts Rima Nimad. The confrontation becomes a duel of words and philosophy, with lives in the balance. But it was all a smoke screen, distracting Rima while Tela’s friends put their plan into motion. The plan nearly worked, until Auditor Gregori Elkerton enacted a plan of his own to double cross Rima and overthrown the Council of Seven! Chaos breaks out, and Tela charges the auditor with a desperate plan in mind that might stop the madness, or get them all killed…

Medilus 5, 1278: Arth Prayogar’s Council Building. It’s what you don’t see that can kill you…

I held onto the abused shield for dear life. If I let go even for a second, it meant someone I cared about would die. That wasn’t going to happen—not today.

Auditor Elkerton snarled in pain, eyes burning with hot rage. Heat boiled off the ancient dark leather bracer in searing waves.

It felt like I’d stuck my face next to an open oven.

The shield smoldered where it touched the Iraxi bracer. Overheated tar-stained wood stank of burning rot, even as the metal frame warmed and warped out of shape in my hands.

“You!” Elkerton spat in my face. “I should’ve killed you myself on the road, or shattered your bones, leaving you to die alone in the Deeplands.”

I flashed a sharp smile. “Aw, and here I didn’t think you cared.”

The kneeling centaur grabbed for my throat with his free hand. I shoved the bent shield forward, ramming it against his fingertips. A dull, wet pop filled the air as Elkerton yowled in pain. One of Herd Tolvana’s soldiers galloped toward us, glaring twisted rage at me as he reached for his sword. I gripped the ruined shield and braced for the pain—it never arrived.

Before the centaur was on top of us, Atha smashed into the soldier like a muscled hammer with horns. I missed the rest when Elkerton slammed a fist into my jaw.

Stars exploded in my vision. I instinctively ducked, avoiding a second punch.

“Just die!” he screamed.

“Not a chance!” I growled.

A third hit from the centaur went low, around the shield and into my ribs. I wheezed out precious air. Then it hit me—my mind magic threads! I still had a bundle wrapped loosely around my right hand.

“Right. Those,” I murmured around the ache in my jaw.

Elkerton drew back his bruised fist. I slammed the heel of my hand right between his eyes. His head jerked back, eyes crossed, but more importantly—the glimmering magic threads grabbed his skull in the mother of all headaches.

The magic storm in his mind instantly went to work. I almost felt sorry for him.

Elkerton clawed at his hair, eyes wide and glowing silver, as he sputtered ragged nonsense that fell short of coherent words. Frantically, I yanked out a scrap of cloth from my bag, a dagger from my belt, then lunged for the Iraxi.

I pinned the auditor’s right arm with my entire body, slapping cloth over the steaming gemstone. The cloth immediately sizzled as I stabbed the metal prongs holding the stone in place. My dagger scraped metal as I gripped the gem.

“Come on! By the Lady’s Nine, cooperate!” I growled, fighting the bracer and Elkerton, who kept flailing.

Then everything exploded into pain when Elkerton backhanded me across the face. I went flying off the centaur, tumbling over the floor. My dagger clattered away, somewhere out of reach. Nearby, Elkerton kept screaming as my silvery threads wrung his deepest nightmares dry.

The tiles were cool against my cheek. I was battered and singed; there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t hurt. For the moment, I lay on the floor, gulping dry air. A surreal eye of calm in the room’s storm of bloodshed.

Finally, I blinked, scrubbing wetness from my cheeks, as the world swam lazily in front of me. Ten Ancient Order meters to my right, Kiyosi worked feverishly to heal a badly bleeding centaur. It was one of the locals. Some merchant who’d gotten swept up in the fighting. In the other direction, Liru and Chancellor Fel hurried for the nearest door to safety. Behind them, Skarri and Nurkes fought a hard battle against Herd Tolvana soldiers.

We were on the wrong side of a losing battle, even if for the right reasons.

I’d lost track of Mikasi and Atha. There were just too many people moving around, and most wanted us dead. Then I caught sight of Rima. She’d just stabbed a Trade-Warden to death, pulling a fistful of dripping red magic threads from his dying breath and blood. My own blood chilled as she narrowed her eyes at Kiyosi with a wicked smirk, winding the blood threads into a hellish mockery of a flaming long knife.

Kiyosi was too absorbed in his work to notice. I tried to yell, but the best I managed was a rough croak. Rima’s words rattled around in my head.

“How many people would die today because of me?” I asked myself, echoing the memory.

I touched my forehead against the stone floor. Somehow the battle kept ignoring me.

“Too many,” I answered, then angrily spat blood onto the floor. “Get up,” I ordered myself. “Get the hells up and stop this.”

My blood sang in my ears as I slammed a fist against the floor.

“Why do these jobs always turn out to be so painful?” I murmured.

With a hard breath, I struggled upright, getting my feet under me. Everything ached. I grunted as I slammed a boot against the floor, relishing the solid feeling through my legs.

“By the Lady Deep, I refuse to be done… not by a long shot,” I snapped, picking up my whip.

Rima paused, looking sharply in my direction as I got to my feet. I shot her a bloody grin, then planted my feet to face Auditor Gregori Elkerton—the consistent pain in my backside.

The centaur had somehow stumbled to his shaking hooves, knee still ruined by my whip a moment ago. Strands of my silvery-blue mind magic crumbled away from his head. They hadn’t lasted long, but they didn’t have to for what I had in mind.

My eyes flicked to the bracer, then locked onto Elkerton’s murderous gaze.

“I’ll enjoy making you scream,” he sneered, baring his teeth at me. The Iraxi bracer on his arm sputtered white sparks in reaction.

I stood my ground, whip in one hand and a fistful of cotton cloth in the other. Casually, I shrugged. A dark, lopsided smile spread across my face as I drew a deep breath.

“You first,” I taunted.

Elkerton’s eyes burned a hateful orange as he summoned the power of the Iraxi. The centaur shoved a hand in my direction, intent on frying me alive. The relic instantly responded, only it wasn’t a red-hot glow from the gemstone, but a ghostly, yellow-white light with a smudge of shadow-black in the center.

A corpse-light from a lich’s soul stone.

The auditor looked in horror at the enchanted relic on his arm. Tendrils of oily smoke dripping gravedust, snaked out from the gem. They wrapped around his arm, crawling eagerly for his neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rima stiffen, eyes wide and round with startled recognition. She started to move, but hesitated—a tremor of nerves rippled through her expression.

I lifted a hand, holding up a particular gleaming hot gemstone with the essence of a fire elemental. The very stone that had been in the bracer a moment ago, and key to Rima’s murderous plan. It steamed, slowly heating the ragged cloth—and my fingers—as it pulsed like a burning heart. Scents of burnt cotton rolled around me in the air like a harbinger of things to come.

“Looking for this?” I asked, rotating the stone so it caught the sunlight off its facets.

“How did you…?” Rima stammered in shock, taking a step toward me.

My grin widened in dark glee.

“Rima? Always bet on a Windtracer when lives, and a relic, are on the line,” I quipped.

“By the Nine… you put Marius’ soul stone in the bracer,” Rima breathed in disbelief. “Are you insane?”

Even as Rima’s words tripped over themselves, the fight in the room staggered to a confused stop as Elkerton shrieked in blood-curdling terror. All eyes turned toward the auditor, who yanked uselessly at the bracer on his arm while experiencing the destructive consequences of his bad decisions.

Ribbon-like tendrils poured from the lich’s soul stone. They’d already swallowed his arm and latched onto his neck and chest with a starving need. Everywhere they touched, Elkerton’s skin crumpled and cracked like an old painting left to rot.

“Give me that!” Rima yelled, lunging for me—really, the gemstone—with a free hand.

Aches or not, I darted aside just out of reach, bouncing a little on the balls of my feet. Fear kept me moving past the pain, even though I knew I’d feel it all later. But, so long as Rima stayed focused on me, she’d stop her murder spree—giving me a chance to end this nightmare.

“Not a chance,” I said, closing my hand around the crystal. “Especially since I’ve figured out how to destroy it,” I lied.

“You’re lying!” she exclaimed.

“Am I?” I asked with another bloody smile that made Rima narrow her eyes at me.

Behind me, I heard Elkerton’s shuffling hoofbeats as he staggered closer—a lot closer. Past Rima, the fighting had died down. Kiyosi stared at this unfolding bad idea in open horror, tail swatting the air. I knew from his expression that he’d figured out what I was going to try.

“Tela! No!” he shouted at me with a terrified expression. “Don’t!”

“Windtracer!” Nurkes bellowed, belting a Herd Tolvana soldier across the jaw. Quickly disarming him, the temple guard nodded to Skarri. She tore off across the room toward me. But Skarri was too far away to reach myself, Rima, or Elkerton anytime soon. Mikasi appeared in a doorway, saying something I couldn’t hear before he, too, ran in to help.

I stepped back from Rima, stumbling in the attempt. Some of that was a ruse, but not all of it. An icy chill caressed my back. Out of the corner of my eye, tendrils of ghostly death magic powdered with gravedust eased around me. I felt it curl around my ankles, even while it spread misty fingers over my shoulders from behind—a loving caress promising cold death. The foul, powdery mist swirled like a demented pixie swarm.

A glance behind me told me too much. Elkerton was dying, turned into a ragged memory of a centaur made of gravedust and bone. The crumbling corpse shambled toward me with a flicker of hate; just lingering memories of Elkerton drowning in a bad death. He wasn’t within arm’s reach—not yet—but that greedy ghostly essence pouring from the crystal was.

Atha bashed a nearby Council guard into surrender, found my lost dagger, then started forward. I caught his eye, giving him a tiny shake of my head. The minotaur paused, eyes flicking between Rima, myself, and impending, ugly death behind me. He inclined his head respectfully in a stern reply, but looked ready to leap.

To my right, a shadow moved wrong in a nearby doorway—way too deliberate to be part of the chaos. I knew that shape. It was what I had been waiting for. After all, that man owed me—as much as I owed him—and this was a fantastic way to settle our debt.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” Rima said coldly, stalking toward me. “Really. I didn’t. You would’ve been a wonderful ally. But… if you won’t give me the gemstone… I’ll take it off your corpse.”

The lich grabbed her flaming long knife, pulling the magic threads apart. One moment it was a blade, the next it was a burning whip. I snorted. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I readied my own whip beside me, practically feeling the last scraps of safety evaporate as Rima and whatever was left of Elkerton closed in.

“Come and get it,” I growled, standing my ground.

Rima’s eyes flicked between the tendrils of dust-laden smoke oozing around my shoulders like a shawl, then back to my eyes. Slowly, her mouth pulled into a sharp smile.

“Do you really think I’m that big a fool?” she asked coolly. “I’m not about to chase you into death mists spilling out of a lich crystal, even if I am a lich.”

“A fool? No, not really,” I replied with a casual shrug. “I figured you’d need a little push.”

“What?” Rima snapped.

Then she jerked upright, spine straight, with a sharp grimace on her face. Garrik twisted the knife harder in the lich’s back.

“Hello, my lady,” the cloaked elven thief said with fake elegance. “Remember me?”

Rima staggered off balance, but her hands were a blur of motion. She raised the burning whip to lash either Garrik or myself alive; I wasn’t sure.

So, I didn’t give her a chance.

I threw myself at the lich, grabbed her by the lapels of her outfit, and bodily yanked backwards. The overheated gemstone sizzled as I shoved it flush against her collarbone.

“No!” she yelled.

Her cry cut off as the death mist swallowed the three of us whole.

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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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