“How in the name of Tehsh did I get stuck with this
group?”
groaned Saykoo to herself, picking her way through the shattered slate of the
cave floor. The lithe assassin looked at
her travel companions. The street orphan
would perhaps be the most helpful, but she was certain that he had lifted her coin
purse in town, and Saykoo was far from the forgiving type. The other two were unarmed but for walking
sticks. One, idealistic and fresh from
the Academy of Illusions in Ir Alatha, had his face wrapped in strips of
linen. Behind him tottered the old
prophet, the skull of some unknown bird atop his head, muttering something to
himself about “the procoming.” This job
would be easier working, as she usually did, alone. Clearing a few Shakhaarya from the island’s
cave system hardly required the fine-tuned skill and stealth of a seasoned
assassin, but it would be a perfect chance to try out a new poison. She had even sold a vial to the orphan for
his arrows on the ship ride in, mixed at quarter strength and twice the price
of course. Still, the others would be
fine as bait for the Shakhaarya who had been terrorizing the sailors using the
island as a stopover on cargo routes from Aefina.
Rounding a corner, a crumbling statue of Tehsh, Aygeema
of the life cycle and Saykoo’s patron god, rose from the spiraled base of a
decrepit shrine. The room smelled of
mold, stale urine, and rotten flesh.
Ahead, three figures hunched over a carcass, a blackened boot protruding
at an odd angle. They turned quickly
with a snarl, blood and saliva dripping from their snouts and claws.
Saykoo spun into the shadows, wondering if it
made any difference with the creature’s large eyes. Two of the orphan’s thick arrows lodged in
the forehead of the closest, while Saykoo’s jagged kalis dagger flashed across
the
second’s throat, severing the artery.
The remaining Shakhaar leapt towards her, its long bony claws raking her
shoulder. “Behind us!” yelled the illusionist, whipping back toward the
passage they had just come from, fifteen or more Shakhaarya clamoring
through. Saykoo knew at once they had
fallen into an ambush, with the creatures probably following them from the
start. “Noisy amateurs” muttered the assassin under her breath, dodging
the slavering bite of the beast while burying her dagger into its ribs.
Suddenly,
the statue comes to life, its terrifying visage screaming at the incoming
pack. Spiraling skulls and hands reach
from its mouth towards the passage, instantly causing the shakhaarya to recoil. Hands held in the channeling position, the
illusionist smiles to himself and nods at the old man. Half-wondering if he is doing it himself or is
possessed by the will of his god, the ancient prophet screams a dooming curse
and hurls his now radiant staff at the cave ceiling. The rocks splinter on impact, raining boulders
on the creatures near the front and sealing off the rest. “Perhaps they are not as useless as I
thought”, Saykoo notes, dragging the now mutilated bodies as a warning
around the shrine. “But I am still getting that coin purse back...”
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