Followers of the Forbidden Circle – Chapter One

Followers of the Forbidden Circle
Copyright 2018 Breton Winters

CHAPTER 1

Borek expected an ambush. He had enough enemies, and he was back in Redpoint.

So as he turned into the tight alley off of Old Street, and just before the Serpent’s Way, he was not surprised to see a slight, cloaked figure approaching him between the tall buildings. The gait was halting, and he loosened his sword in its scabbard. The moonlight was blocked here, but the dim starlight was enough that he could see there were no other figures in the dark space.

He checked once over his shoulder, back toward the ill-lit street winding through this part of the Thieves’ Quarter, then halted and waited. The figure reached him and a thin, feminine voice said, “Follow me.” She continued toward the way he had come from.

“Why?”

Stopping beside him, the hood hid her face in shadow. “You seek Beltair?”

“Yes. I am heading to his house. You would lead me away.”

“He…is not there. I will take y-”

“You are lying.” He pushed his long hair back, looked down the alley, but still saw no other shapes.

She moved in that instant, and he reacted. Gripping her shoulders in both massive hands, he held her against one rough, stone wall. She struggled, and the hood slid away, revealing her to be an elf. Beneath her silver hair glowing faint in the starlight, the left side of her face was scarred badly, and the eye was milky white. Part of that ear was gone.

Her remaining eye widened at his tall, powerful frame and blazing eyes in terror.

He released her, and she cowered to the pavement before him.

“I won’t hurt you,” Borek said. “Tell me why Beltair wanted you to lead me away from him.”

“I…I don’t know,” she murmurred.

He had only been in Redpoint for an hour, and had received the name of the information broker half an hour ago. The man he had gotten that name from must have hastened to tell Beltair that someone was coming for him.

There was no way the information broker would know what Borek sought. So why would he try to deflect the warrior? Scared of his size? The ambush he had been expecting was not from the information broker…

The woman said something else, but Borek was already in motion, walking briskly down the alley and fixing his small shield to his left forearm. He was worried that Beltair might be fleeing, and Borek did not want that.

He came to the end of the alley, as it intersected with another. He turned right and saw two figures before a low doorway on the left side: his destination. The two arose and drew steel. One was human, the other was luprian, his tall pointed ears twitching.

Borek’s blade was already drawn. He was normally not one to strike first, but these men were not going to talk.

He thrust low on the man, forcing him to jump back. The luprian swung and Borek shielded the blade aside, following with another thrust. The luprian howled as the steel sunk into his gut.

The other man had unbalanced himself in avoiding the initial attack, and Borek had time to withdraw his blade as the dog-man sank in pain, and follow up with another attack at the man. Steel rang on steel several times, but Borek’s strength beat the blade aside. Another eye-level swing chunked into the side of the man’s head and he staggered away, to fall into a silent heap a moment later.

Borek looked at the luprian at his feet, curled up and shivering in a widening pool of blood, then stepped past him and opened the door.

Two lanterns cast the room in yellow gloom. A man was rising from behind desk, and a huge fighter in a chain hauberk stood beside him, holding a massive battleaxe casually. Another human with a bald head in a star-spackled robe leered from the back of the room. Three orcs stood about the table, and they stepped forward raising swords at Borek’s entrance. Borek advanced on one, but the man behind the desk called out.

“Wait! Wait! Stay your blade. I am Beltair.”

Borek halted warily and scowled. “I only seek information. Your men outside attacked me first.”

“That may be, stranger, but there are protocols.” The man, in faded finery, slowly sat back down. There were some ledgers on the desk before him. “I heard a large killer was asking about me at the docks. I get a bit defensive in those situations.” He settled back. “That was you, I take it.”

“I was not asking about you specifically. I seek information, and your name came up.”

“I see.” Beltair tried to look behind the newcomer, out the open door. “My two men are dead?”

Borek cautiously stepped to the side, still with levelled blade. “Probably, but you might save them if you act quickly.”

“Lars!” Beltair shouted.

A leather curtain behind him parted and a slender, elder man in a stained, white smock stepped through. He gaped at Borek.

“Check on the boys outside. Our new friend has sworded them.” As Lars went back through the curtains to fetch a large, black bag, Beltair asked, “I assume you killed the elf bitch, too?”

“What?” Borek’s broad brow furrowed. “No.”

“Pity.”

The man in the starry robe held his eyes open in an attempt at intimidation. A mageling, Borek thought.

Lars nervously passed Borek and went outside, one of the orcs accompanying him.

The huge man in chain spoke up. “I say we kill him. He is trouble.”

Borek grinned. “You may try.”

Beltair gestured to his guard. “That’s enough, Gadden.” He focused on Borek. “What information is it you seek, stranger?”

“A friend of mine, who lives here in Redpoint, has been abducted. Maybe killed. I need to find out where he is, if he still lives.”

“There are many you could ask this question. Why do you seek my specialized – and expensive – knowledge?”

“He was a powerful man. Those who have taken him are probably as powerful, or more. And secretive. Those I asked when got here claimed never to have heard of my friend.”

“I see. I am interested. What is the name of your friend?”

Borek glanced to his left side, back into the alley. Lars was huddled over the luprian, who was still shivering. “He is Vormann. He has a tower here in the city.”

Beltair’s brows shot up, but he quickly regained control. “The wizard Vormann. He is your friend, eh?”

“Do you know what has happened to him?”

“Do you have two hundred silvers?”

“…No.”

“This is dangerous information.”

Shifting his stance slightly, Borek appraised the five men remaining in the room. “But you know the answer.” He shifted the grip on his sword. “Yes?”

“And if I do?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Borek heard a soft scuff in the alley. He risked a quick glance, and saw more shadows out there, nearing the door.

The orc beside him was moving forward, but Borek was already in action. He chopped the grey-skinned warrior to the wooden floor and leapt over him. The warrior with the battleaxe moved to intercept him, along with the last orc. The mageling began an incantation but Borek had no desire to see what the result would be. He burst through the leather curtains to find a small, empty, stinking room lit by a single candle. There was a dark hallway opposite the entry and he went headlong into it.

It ended in another curtain and pushing through this he came to a larger room, with several older people hunched over a long table and counting coin-stacks or writing in tomes. He saw a door at the back and headed for it. Just as he reached it, the portal burst open and a swordsman in leather came through. Borek struck him in the temple with his shield, and he stumbled in the doorway. There were more men behind that one, trying to push through.

Borek spied a rickety stairwell, the only other exit in the room, and ran for it. He heard commotion from the hallway he had quit. Bounding up the stairs, he came to a trapdoor. He threw this open and ascended to the second floor as the room behind him flooded with men.

He was in a large room filled with cots, several of which were occupied. A few of these men stirred as he ran for a curtain opposite, through which pale light shone. Pushing through this, he found himself in a tight hallway running back toward the front of the building, with several darkened doorways leading off of it.

An elderly woman sat here at a small desk, reading by lantern-light. She looked up with mouth agape at his sudden appearance.

“Madame,” he said, “is there an exit from this building?”

There was noise nearby behind him, men yelling on the stairs. She glanced in that direction, then at his reddened blade, and pointed down the hall. “Second door on the left.”

Borek nodded his thanks and bolted as directed. He pushed through a curtain into a small, dark chamber. There was a ladder leading up to another trap door. Behind him, men had entered the hall.

He thundered up the rocking wooden frame and knocked the portal open. The night sky was beyond, all three moons shining down. He drew himself up and looked over the flat roof for the nearest building.

Taking in the sea of dark, bulking shapes separated by seams of faint light, he saw a steepled roof with a bare flagpole projecting out horizontally. It was five yards or so from the edge of this building. He sheathed his blade hurriedly and replaced his shield on his back, and as he heard clambering on the ladder he broke into a sprint. He reached the edge and leapt into the dark.

Catching the pole, his momentum carried his mass forward and up, and it cracked. As he swung back down, it broke and he released it, madly trying to find purchase on the angled roof. Borek sprawled wide and he halted his fall. Then tiles began to slide under his weight.

A spear or javelin bounced off the angled roof near his head.

To one side of the building, in the silver moonlight, he saw an awning over the entrance to a building, lit by a lantern beneath. He rose furiously, more tiles flinging from his steps, and launched himself toward the tightly stretched cloth. As he dove down on it, he saw that he was short of it.

But he hit it with his upper chest, haphazardly slowing his fall, and he flipped under it onto a table. Clay pottery shattered under him, the lantern was knocked out, and several forms rose up cursing in the sudden shadows.

Borek bounced up and drew his blade in the same motion, and there was now space around him. He was pleased that nothing seemed to be badly broken in his body, though there were plenty of aches. Gaining his bearings, he sped down an alley away from Beltair’s place. He took a few sudden turns, lurkers getting out of his way fast, and then he halted.

He heard no pursuit.

He would have to find another source of information concerning Vormann. As well as looking over his shoulder, now, since Beltair would probably seek some revenge for his slain underlings. No time to linger in the city; he would have to go to the Maul.

He rose to find his route to the south, and heard a cry of outrage. Such was not uncommon in Redpoint, and the Thieves’ Quarter in particular, but it had a familiar quality. When he heard it again, more shrill this time, he thought he recognized it as the elven woman’s voice. Here was the mocking laughter of several men, and then he was moving in that direction, instead, readying his shield.

Turning a corner cautiously, he saw an orc and two men, undoubtedly Beltair’s men, standing over the woman. They had knives out.

“The boss said that was your last chance, honey,” the orc said. “Now you’re expendable.” He yanked her head back and slowly raised his dagger high.

“Hey, not so fast,” one of the men said. “We can play with her a bit, first.”

The orc looked up with exasperation and began, “Corwin, the boss said-” Then his eyes went wide. The men, alarmed, turned around.

Borek’s blade drove through the throat of one. The orc tried to raise his inadequate dagger but the shield smashed into his face, and he was staggered back into a jumble.

The third man was quick, and his sword and dagger were drawn as Borek readied himself after his charge. The speed of the thug’s attacks surprised him; this guy was good. Borek sought an opening, but he was met with steel or air every time, as the thug launched a counterattack.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the orc climbing to his feet. Others might be close by, as well, ready to join their fellows. He had to end this now, or make a run for it.

And then the elf had grabbed the thug’s leg. Surprised, he jabbed down with the dagger, and the woman cried out in anguished pain and rolled away. Borek chopped that hand away and the man screamed, and then the warrior ran the thug through.

The orc sprinted away down another alley, calling as he ran.

“Come on,” she said to him as she slowly rose and turned in another direction.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he followed. He was uncertain where she had been stabbed.

“I’ll be okay until we reach…safety…” She staggered.

Borek sheathed his blade. He gently lifted her. “Show me where to go.”

She pointed, and he trotted through twists and turns until they came to a long alley. She finally indicated an open doorway squared by lantern-light, and entering it he found himself in a kitchen. An angry woman began shouting at him until she saw his burden.

“Tharia! You’re bloody! Set her down, you oaf! Over here!” The woman indicated a table and he carefully set her down. Her blood covered his cloth jerkin. He now saw that she had been stabbed in the upper back.

“What happened?” she asked furiously as she grabbed a pot of water and some semi-clean cloth.

“Beltair’s thugs tried to kill her,” Borek said, uncertain if Tharia was conscious.

“Why?” The woman looked at the red rent in the elf’s tunic, and tore it further. There was a puncture wound. “Not deep,” the woman said as she wiped at it with the wet cloth. “Deflected by the shoulder blade, thank Gaia.”

Tharia opened her eye, a brilliant violet. “Beltair will be coming for me.”

“You can stay here, dearie.”

“He knows were friends, Myrtle. He’ll find me here in a day.”

“Beltair knows better than to mess with me.” The woman went to a shelf and returned with a fish-bone needle and some black thread. “Now don’t move.” She bent over the wound.

A broad man came into the room from a curtain. “Myrtle, is the soup ready? Customers are…” He trailed off when he saw Borek, and the elf lying on the table.

“Not now, Boris.”

The man turned and left.

“I am not going to bring Beltair upon you,” Tharia said. “I need to leave Redpoint. Ow!”

“I need to go, now,” Borek said. “If you are safe for the moment.”

Tharia looked at him. “Why were you going to see Beltair.”

“I was told he would know what happened to Vormann.”

“The wizard?” Myrtle asked. “What do you want to get mixed up with him for?”

“Others would know what happened to that mage,” Tharia said. “I can take you to them. I only ask that you take me out of this city.”

Borek thought, then nodded. “If you can travel now. I can waste no time.”

“I’ll be ready as soon as Myrtle – ouch! – is done with that spear.”

“You’re not fit to walk anywhere, dearie.”

“I…I have to.”

“Yes,” Borek said. “We need to leave.” He eyed the open doorway they had entered by, but no one yet appeared there.