The Shadow

The air was filled with the chirping cries of insects, unseen among the branches of needle-lined trees. Roots twisted in winding patterns through the dirt below, hidden beneath dark weeds where what little light the moon poured down could not reach them. 

Ichta moved through the undergrowth, slow and cautious. Her preparation was through, armed with all manner of tools and tricks for any obstacle that laid in her path, and she marched now toward Old Haarkon, where her quarry awaited. These woods were dangerous, territory even those that still wander in the dark avoid. Thus, it would serve well to mask her approach.

Or so she believed.

Odd noises tickled her ears. A faint crack here, the subtle crunching of leaves there. She knew the starless wilds well, far better than most even without her patron’s aid, for they were the only home she’d had for a long time. She knew it was no beast she was hearing.

Then, a faint whistling sound cut through the air. Ichta tensed. Metal gleamed in the moonlight; she leaped away just in time to avoid the sweeping edge of a glaive.

Her assailant emerged from the treeline, a masked hunter with a cold glare. His glaive thrusted forward and Ichta nearly stumbled to the ground evading it. The backfoot was a losing position.

She called her dagger to her hand and threw it, wild and reckless, to give her foe pause. He ducked and braced; she took off running the other way. Disengage, circle back to claim the element of surprise as her own—never stay on the defensive. Yet as she ducked and weaved through the trees, there was a faint flicker in the light and that same whistling perked her ears. Another figure lunged out to block her path, this one managing to cut a gash down her arm.

Ichta swung her own blade back, chain in hand, but she could hear the first hunter fast approaching. No, not hunters—assassins. Suspicions crept into her head as she once again broke away running into the woods.

Too hasty—her foot caught on a hidden root. She stumbled, falling to her knees in a small clearing. A whistle cut the air again, and this time she saw it: a small glint from something embedded in the ground. It gave off the strong scent of lilac. Now, she understood:

One of her targets had come to her.

By the time she was back on her feet, she was surrounded, a third assassin joining the fray. New recruits, but she recognized their shape now. The real threat was in the sky: Illona.

She set her weapon in motion, swinging and spinning her blade to keep her foes at bay, unable to do more than defend with attacks coming from all angles. Her eyes darted around the clearing, desperately looking for any opening that could aid her. They settled on a tall tree with low branches.

A hasty, reckless plan took form. She reached for her belt and pulled out a vial of brown powder—ground umber thistle seeds. Something she brought as a precaution to lure them away from her if need be, but plans change. She crushed the vial in her hands and scattered the powder in front of her. At once, a pungent, earthy scent filled the air.

Illona worked from the shadows, even in the field. She would train assassins to be particularly sensitive to the scent of specific flowers, then use darts laced with that scent to guide them from up above, her pixie eyes more keen in the dark. Ichta owed her flash of inspiration to the trick—two could play this game.

It worked faster than she expected. Crackling branches and rustling leaves cut between the clashing of blades. The insects went quiet; small animals skittered in a hurry through the underbrush.

She made her move, blade and dagger lashing out to force an opening. She darted for the tree. Not a moment too soon, a guttural shriek echoed through the air. 

These were dangerous woods.

The assassins scattered in a panic as a great tusked horror crashed through the treeline, hooves stomping through the dirt. Wild eyes in piercing amber, a long snout with jagged teeth and sharpened tusks longer than an arm, dark, shaggy hair waving with its charge. The scattered moonlight offered only quick glimpses of the frenzied creature. It huffed and snorted, stomped its hooves, then charged again at the nearest assassin—the scent of the flower had drawn it in, but it saw now more appealing prey.

Ichta was already halfway up the tree when it arrived, moving effortlessly from branch to branch, then tree to tree. This forest was filled with these beasts, it was their hunting ground. Ichta came prepared for the threat; she doubted the same was true for the others. She heard a scream and a wet crunch from below. She did not look down.

Her eyes remained locked on the sky, keeping vigilant watch of the moon. Nothing. She readied her dagger. A shadow began to pass in front of the light and the dagger flicked forward in an instant.

The figure fluttered, then fell. Ichta gave chase, following the sound of it fumbling down through the branches while the battle below faded into the distance behind her.

She found Illona crumpled on the ground beside the trunk of a large tree. Her insect-like wings unfolded, only to twitch and fall back inward, a clear hole torn through the lower right side. She turned over to face Ichta, pulling a dagger with a wavy, uneven blade from her side. Battered and bruised from the fall, but there was a grin on her face.

“He told me you were crazy. Suppose I thought I was crazier,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Word still travels, when you know who to ask. Knew you were coming, easy enough to figure out what path someone as reckless as you would take.”

Ichta recalled her dagger to her hand. Illona held hers forward in warning.

“‘The Red Death’, that’s what they call you.” She coughed. “More fitting than I thought, you’re really something else. Got nothing to say?”

Ichta narrowed her gaze, looking over the battered pixie. Solid yellow eyes stared back, impossible to read.

“Why would you still work for Elkoron?” Ichta asked. “Even when the Knights were pretending to be noble, they hid you away like a shameful secret. Treated you like nothing more than a tool to command when they needed it. Why stay?”

Illona laughed again. “You ought to know the answer as well as I do. Blades grow dull in the light, dear, I’ve always been right where I wanted to be,” she spoke. “Would you not have come for me anyway, whether I left or not?”

Ichta stayed silent.

“Thought so. You set your mark and you’ll see it through, no matter what. Oh the things we could have done together if I’d found you before all this began…” She laughed, and it became a cough. Her eyes narrowed. “They were a bunch of bastards to be sure, but among those ‘knights’ were the only people I might have called friends. You cut down every last one.” Her smile flattened for the first time. “Elkoron didn’t have to tell me to hunt you down.”

“They deserved it, every last one.”

Illona laughed again, more wild than before. “Of course they did, of course they did! It’s all part of the game,” she said like a joke she could barely get out. “Oh you play it so well! He’s not going to know what’s coming..!”

Ichta cut off her cackling with a flick of her wrist, disgusted. Illona dropped her knife, crumpling as Ichta’s pierced her chest. Sputtering, gasping, she was still laughing with what breath she had left. Ichta recalled her knife and walked up to slit her throat to be certain it was done.

As she stepped back from the corpse, she felt a tingling warmth ignite on her left wrist. Then the feeling spread, skin prickling with the sensation of a blade scraping against it just light enough not to draw blood. Her heartbeat quickened, adrenaline flushing through her veins. She recognized the feeling.

“You did not warn me they were coming,” she said. Only then did she turn to face him.

A tall figure drifted toward her from between the darkened trees, cloaked in a robe of dark feathers that shrouded its entire body, no visible limbs to speak of. In place of a head, an orb of glowing red energy hovered above its shoulders. Olim-Vir, the Spirit of Vengeance.

“Did not need it,” the spirit spoke. Its voice was harsh and ragged, like it was being heard through broken glass. “Sought vengeance too, would not deny it.”

“Of course. Vengeance is mine, she lacked the will.”

“So it seems, so it seems,” the spirit said with something like amusement straining in his voice. He loomed over Illona’s body. “Well done. Three remain.”

Ichta studied her patron, a frown hidden by her scarf. “Why are you here?”

The spirit rose back upright, drifting closer to her. 

“Favor,” he spoke, a harsh thrum in his voice that made her bones itch. “Beast called, still hunting. Would come here if not for aura.”

She nodded. “Of course. Thank you,” she replied, yet doubt was in her mind. 

“Vengeance sworn. Vengeance will be had. Go, take what is owed.”

She blinked, and the spirit was gone, though she could still feel the itch on her skin. He was staying close. She trudged onward through the woods.

Elkoron awaited.

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