Janus
2015-11-19, 01:09 AM
Here's a short story I wrote a while ago. It's based on my EverQuest characters, though knowledge of the setting is not at all required. Hope you enjoy it!
deviantArt link: http://janus3003.deviantart.com/art/Ambushed-by-Betrayal-ch1-557845265
Fanfiction.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11484428/1/Ambushed-by-Betrayal
Chapter 1
The Sleeping Hound Inn was located no more than a few days’ ride from the surrounding towns and villages, not to mention the grand city of Freeport. It had grown greatly over the years, building four stories for guest rooms alone and an impressive two-tiered dining hall. The inn catered to travelers of all different shapes and sizes. Humans and half-elves were the most common sight, followed by halflings and a sampling of wood elves, gnomes, and dwarves. Sometimes there was an ogre or a dark elf, but they generally stayed away from the crowds per the insistence of the inn’s bouncers. Orcs were shot on sight.
The inn’s dining hall was packed. Waitresses hustled from one table to another as tempers flared back in the kitchens. Minstrels did their best playing jovial tunes over the din, and patrons rearranged tables and chairs as they saw fit. A cacophony of different languages, accents, and dialects filled the hall.
At a table in one of the quieter spots in the hall sat three members of the Knights of Truth, each eating their simply but hearty meals in relative silence. The Knights of Truth was a paladin order based in nearby Freeport, serving the will of Mithaniel Marr the Truthbringer, god of valor and divine champion of justice, honor, and charity. The order’s members all swore to various oaths during their training, abiding by increasingly strict tenants. It was taught that the oaths freed its members, and that oaths of sobriety and maintaining a sense of decorum enabled a paladin to better be ready and able to combat any evil that may arise.
Janus Kamaren was the leader of the group. He was a tall, strong human with medium-length brown hair neatly parted at the middle. His dark blue surcoat was pressed and straightened. He was generally a reserved individual, and his expression was normally one of utmost seriousness or even irritation, even when he didn’t feel as such.
Across from Janus was Tyria Elarra, a high elf. High elves were rare in Freeport, but nevertheless she had been born and raised there. Her parents were jewelers, and Tyria had inherited their love of finely crafted, beautiful things. She had altered her surcoat to flatter her lithe figure, and had also hand-stitched golden embroidery into its hems. Many Knights of Truth considered her luxurious fashion to be frivolous and unbefitting of a paladin, but she had excelled in her training and thus was generally left alone about her clothing.
Next to Tyria sat Elliot Dayson, a human with messy black hair and striking ice-blue eyes. Unlike Janus and Tyria, Elliot had not yet taken his vows as a paladin. He had trained for the same time as his companions, but he had repeatedly gotten in trouble for public brawling, injuring sparring partners, and generally being a poor representative of the order.
“Oh, hey, there’s some Militia sitting over there,” said Elliot. Janus turned around and, sure enough, there were six members of the Freeport Militia, all strong, human men clad in crimson red tunics.
Janus sighed as he returned to his food. “Just ignore them, and maybe they’ll ignore us.”
Elliot rolled his eyes. “Do you just see the worst in everyone?”
“You know they’re not our friends.”
“Oh, come off it. They’re not all the same any more than we are.” He hugged Tyria around her shoulders. “Right?”
“You’re right.” Tyria lightly patted Elliot’s hand. “But it still pays to be cautious.”
“It’s not like they’re orcs or something,” Elliot said. “They can be reasoned with.”
“Their leader is a fallen paladin,” said Janus. “He murdered a fellow knight—”
“Allegedly murdered.”
“—he murdered a fellow knight and now tries to act like we betrayed him. No, I’m not inclined to trust them.”
“Well, I’m going to go talk to them and decide for myself.” Elliot stood up. “Care to join me, Tyria?”
“No, thank you. I’ll stay here with Janus.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“No, Elliot.” She smiled. “Go enjoy yourself.”
“Don’t tell them we’re heading to Greenfall,” said Janus as Elliot passed him. “I’d rather not make the trip worrying about a knife in my back.”
Tyria cocked her head to the side. “You seem tense.”
“I’m fine.” He quieted for a moment. “Okay, maybe a little tense.”
“Scared of teaching novices in Greenfall?”
“Scared of Elliot helping us teach novices in Greenfall.”
“We’ll be fine,” Tyria said. “I doubt he’ll do much more than stare out the window.”
Janus returned to his food. “Hopefully he’ll fall off his horse and spend the entire trip in an infirmary.”
***
“—so he tells the paladin, ‘Hey, no wonder I can’t get it in, there’s a stick in your hole!’” Elliot grinned as the Militiamen laughed. They were largely confused when he joined them, but had gradually warmed up to him over the course of drinks and crude jokes they hadn’t heard before. Elliot was feeling happier, himself.
“You’re rather unusual for a Knight,” said Daks, the leader of the band.
“Still a squire!” Elliot downed another tankard of beer. “I can’t stand all the sanctimonious types I run into in the order. And trust me, they’re the majority.”
“So why did you even join?”
“My first reason was to get my parents to shut up. They’re devout worshipers of the Marr twins, and they were paying for it, anyway.”
“Why Mithaniel, then?” asked Daks. “Erollisi Marr is all about love, which I respect. I’ve seen some gorgeous priestesses at her temple. Even considered joining their order myself because of that.”
“Trust me, they’re prudes. Both Marr twins seem to have something against casual sex, or so the clergy tells me.”
“You sound like you don’t care much for your patron deity.”
Elliot grinned and laughed. “What gave it away?”
“Why remain with the Knights?”
“The benefits. Paladins are generally trusted, with no questions asked. The order also has access to high quality arms and armor, and Marr grants some blessings to anyone who swears an oath to him.”
“Such as?”
“Such as healing myself or someone with the touch of a hand.”
“All paladins can do that,” said Daks, “but only once every full day. Explain that.”
Elliot chuckled. “You should see the priests fumble over themselves when you ask that. They argue about it, saying that the gods are limited by an ancient, supernal pact or a lack of worshipers.”
“Seems like a lot of work for little payoff. Just hire a cleric.”
“Well, the healing is just one benefit. My personal favorite blessing—” He swatted a passing half-elf barmaid on her bottom. “—is immunity to disease!”
The men laughed as the barmaid glared at Elliot. The squire shrugged and smiled at her, joining in the laughter when she stormed off.
“Lad makes a strong argument, I’ll admit,” said another Militiaman.
Elliot raised his drink in reply. “I’d say it’s all worth a few prayers.”
“So,” said Daks, glancing over Elliot’s shoulder, “why don’t your companions join us? They the sanctimonious types?”
“Our leader most certainly is.” Elliot snorted. “You should have heard his whining when I said I was going to come over here. Luckily Greenfall’s not too far away, so I won’t have to listen to him on the road for too long.”
“You’re headed to Greenfall?”
Elliot laughed. “I said that, didn’t I? Sir Jackass over there thought me telling you that would be some kind of security risk.”
Daks chuckled and shook his head. “Greenfall’s a nice place. But no, he doesn’t have to worry about us. We’re returning to Freeport.”
“Well, I might suggest to him he’s being followed, anyway.”
“What about the elf? It’s rare to see high elves around these parts.”
Elliot’s muscles tensed. “She grew up here.”
“Gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“She took an oath of chastity.” Elliot looked Daks in the eye. “She’s not about to sleep with anyone.”
“Sanctimonious type?”
“Not at all. She just wants to be married first.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that one before,” Daks said with a laugh. “Every woman who’s told me that just needed some encouragement. Everyone has needs, and there’s nothing wrong with a little fun.
“Save my seat for me, boys,” he said as he rose from his chair.
Elliot clinched his fists. “Where are you going?”
“Seriously?” asked Daks. He thrusted his pelvis forward with a grin.
Elliot knocked his chair over as he sprang in front of Daks.
Daks looked down on Elliot. “Easy there, squire.”
“She’ll say no.”
“Isn’t that up to her?”
“I know her better than you.” Elliot’s fists trembled. “And the answer is no. Don’t waste your time. Or hers.”
“Hey, I’m doing you a favor. I’ll loosen her up tonight, and then you can have her as much as you want.”
Elliot’s vision went red as he drove Daks to the floor, punching him in the face again and again. Every voice and sound was muffled, and he felt nothing from the return blows. Exhilaration spread through Elliot as Daks’s soft throat collapsed beneath his fist. The squire’s ice blue eyes flashed with malice as he raised his fist again.
Something grabbed him from behind, lifting him from the ground and slamming him into the wooden wall.
“—is wrong with you?” the assailant asked, his tone furious.
Elliot swung blindly at his attacker, hitting nothing and being shoved to the floor. Elliot’s hearing and vision cleared as he was pinned on the ground, and finally he saw his attacker’s blue surcoat.
It was Janus. Behind him, Tyria was placing her hand on Daks’s cheek, a blue glow emanating from beneath her palm. Daks gasped for breath once, then breathed freely as his injuries faded as if they had never been there.
“Stay down.” Janus stood up and turned to the furious Militiamen. Elliot remained on the floor, his own hurts finally becoming apparent.
He watched Janus and Tyria argue with the Militia. Elliot couldn’t make out everything they were saying, but Janus’s raised hands with palms forward told him all he needed to know. Elliot growled. Once again, Janus was refusing to fight, not even to protect his companions.
It wasn’t long before the bouncers came to break them up. Tyria helped Elliot off the floor, and the three Knights of Truth left the Sleeping Hound Inn’s dining hall.
Chapter 2
Tyria sat quietly, her eyes traveling around Elliot’s inn room. His belongings were unceremoniously dumped on the floor and dresser. Elliot himself sat at the end of his bed, shirtless. He had angled himself to give Tyria an eyeful of his muscles, constantly glancing at her as he inspected his bruises.
Her eyes went to Janus, who was hunched over in his chair. His hand covered his face as he silently rubbed his temples.
Elliot cleared his throat. “So, are you—”
“Quiet,” Tyria said, though a tad harsher than she had intended. Healing someone with a mere touch, or “laying hands” as it was often called, always left her feeling empty inside. It was as if she gave away a part of her own soul every time she did it, and she never quite felt whole again until the next day.
Janus finally sat up straight.
“Okay,” he said. His face was serious, but not angry. “What happened?”
Elliot continued examining his arms. “Just setting a lecher straight.”
“And you couldn’t have done so in any other manner?”
Elliot finally looked at Janus. “He was treating Tyria like a whore, and I’m not about to let that pass by.”
“I appreciate the concern,” Tyria said, even-toned, “but your response was excessive.” Part of her wondered what exactly the Militiaman had said about her, but she brushed it aside. Regardless, Elliot added more detail.
“He said he was going to make you bed him, oath or not.”
Tyria shook her head. “He’s not the first tavern-goer to try, nor will he likely be the last.”
“Well, someone needs to stick up for you, because that’s not right.” Elliot turned to Janus. “And our fearless leader apparently has a problem with that.”
A glint of anger flashed on Janus’s expression. Tyria bit her lip and silently urged him not to take the bait.
Janus spoke slowly, his voice tinged with anger. “You’re on probation already. A stunt like this could end your training.”
Elliot laughed. “But that’s not up to you, is it? All you can do is cry about it to the Lord Marshall.”
Janus was silent for another moment. Tyria bit her lip harder, glancing between the two humans.
“You nearly killed a man tonight, Elliot,” Janus said. “That would have—”
“And how many bandits and orcs have you killed in your career?”
“Those were under entirely different circumstances.”
“Ah, so you’re the almighty judge of who needs killing?”
Tyria’s eyes were on Janus, whose hands had balled up into fists. She silently pleaded for him to calm down, but he didn’t look back at her.
“Walk away,” Janus said. “Learn to walk away from needless fights.”
Elliot laughed loudly, slapping his knee. “Oh, that’s great coming from you.”
Tyria’s face paled as she recognized the wild gleam in Elliot’s eye and realized what he was about to say.
“You do remember that walking away from a fight was what got your father killed, right?”
Tyria sprang forward as Janus and Elliot stood up, pushing them back from each other.
“Elliot, that’s enough!” she said.
Elliot smirked at Janus. “Set me straight if I’m wrong, or walk away if I’m right.”
“Elliot!” Tyria glanced back to Janus, whose eyes were screaming for blood.
“Am I wrong or right? Show me.”
“We’re done here,” Janus said, stepping back. “We’re done. We leave in the morning.”
“I thought as much,” Elliot said as Janus passed him and went out the door. “Glad we had this talk, Janus!”
Tyria followed, but stopped when Elliot touched her shoulder.
“Wait,” he said, “you don’t have to leave.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
She looked him in the eye. “Because I’m walking away from this fight, too.”
She left before Elliot could get another word out. She traveled the corridors and staircases of the Sleeping Hound Inn, finally stepping outside. The late spring air was pleasantly cool, and the sun setting behind the distant Serpent’s Spine Mountains covered the land in brilliant shades of orange and purple. After admiring the sight for a moment, Tyria continued down to the inn’s main grounds.
The Sleeping Hound Inn offered an expansive training ground with enough room for individuals and small squads to practice a safe distance from each other. The east side had an archery range, while the west was dotted with six-foot posts called pells.
It was at one of the pells that Tyria found Janus venting his frustration. He was striking it with a longsword waster, but stopped abruptly as Tyria approached.
“Don’t let me stop you,” the high elf said. “Go on.” Janus had always excelled at swordsmanship, and Tyria enjoyed watching him, both for the entertainment and the chance to learn something new.
The wooden sword became a blur as Janus resumed his practice. He stepped with each strike, moving forward, backward, and diagonally. He utilized both of the waster’s edges and struck from varying angles, low and high, right and left, circling the pell as if it were an opponent. For a minute straight Janus exerted himself as much as he could, throwing all of his intensity and power into his movements.
Tyria applauded lightly as Janus struck the pell as hard as he could, the resulting crack echoing in the early evening air. He sat down against the pell, wiping sweat from his brow and breathing heavily.
“Nice job,” Tyria said as she handed him his water flask. She sat next to him as he guzzled the water.
“Thank you,” Janus finally said as he leaned his head back and exhaled heavily.
“You broke the waster, though.” She pointed at the thin crack running down the middle of the blade.
Janus sighed. “Great.”
“On the plus side, that definitely would have killed someone.” She looked at him, frowning softly at his furrowed brow. She nudged his shoulder. “Hey, it’s all right.”
“Yeah, I can pay for it.”
“No, I mean …” she bit her lip. “I mean the discussion back there.”
Janus sighed. “I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up.”
“I don’t blame you for getting mad. Gods know I was getting angry, myself.”
“It’s just that when we were given this assignment, I was specifically asked to help get Elliot back on the right track, and it’s like he’s worse than ever under my watch.” He sighed again. “I can’t get through to him, and I don’t think I like him enough to really give it an honest try, either.”
Tyria said nothing.
“And his remark about my father—”
“Was cruel and uncalled for.”
“But he was right.” Janus looked at her. “Pa turned away, and both he and Ma died for it.”
Tyria threw her arms around Janus’s shoulders and squeezed, resting her head against his.
“Don’t do this to yourself, Janus,” she said. “What happened with your parents was not at all the same as what happened at dinner. You made the right choice tonight. You know you did.”
Janus sighed and nodded.
“Elliot just hates authority,” Tyria said.
“And me.”
“No, he doesn’t. Neither of you like each other, sure, but that isn’t hate.”
“I don’t know, we dislike each other quite a bit.”
“Would you let him die, if given the chance?”
Janus closed his eyes and, after a moment, shook his head. “No.”
“And ultimately, I don’t think he would let you die, either.” She smiled. “If anything, he’d save your life and never let you forget about it.”
Janus chuckled. “That sure sounds like him.”
She released her hug and looked into his green eyes.
“Thank you,” said Janus.
“Any time.”
They both stood, brushing grass off of their clothes.
“You don’t think …” Janus said, looking over the cracked waster. “I’m not unreasonable, am I?”
“How do you mean?”
“I know I’m stubborn, not to mention a stickler for the rules.” He looked up at her. “Am I unreasonable?”
“No, far from it,” Tyria said, “but you do take things too seriously sometimes. I worry you don’t have enough fun.”
Janus shrugged, and then smiled at her. “Would you remind me to loosen up now and then?
“I’m going to start now. I hear this inn has the best cobbler outside of Rivervale, and we need to find out if that’s true.” She smirked. “Knights of Truth, after all.”
Janus groaned and rubbed his brow as he followed Tyria.
***
The bouncers, two burly humans armed with clubs, both raised an eyebrow when Janus and Tyria came again to the dining hall, but said and did nothing to stop them. The dining hall was quieter than earlier, but there were still a handful of groups spread out among the tables. Janus and Tyria found themselves a corner and were soon enjoying delicious cobbler. Janus wasn’t so certain it was the best outside the halfling city of Rivervale, or worth the ridiculous asking price of two silver pieces. Regardless, Tyria seemed to be enjoying her slice, so Janus kept his thoughts to himself.
“Paladin.”
Janus and Tyria looked up to see Freeport Militiamen standing by their table. Four of them, all muscular. Unarmed and unarmored, but glowering dubiously. The bouncers watched the two groups closely.
“Can I help you?” asked Janus. He had a fork in hand, plus a ceramic mug nearby. His chair was light enough to wield and strong enough to feasibly hold off an attacker or two, especially until the bouncers inevitably got involved.
“Where’s your attack dog?” asked the lead Militiaman.
“Not here,” Janus said. “What do you want?”
“How’s your throat?” asked Tyria.
The Militiaman’s hand went to his neck, and his expression and tone softened. “Much better. Thank you for your help.”
Tyria returned to her cobbler. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry our attack dog made it necessary.”
“Well, if you’re sorry—” The man returned to Janus. “—you can repay me for the trouble.”
Janus raised an eyebrow, and Tyria continued with her dessert.
“Your friend told us you’re headed to Greenfall. I have a cousin just on the way, and you can repay me by delivering a letter to him. You ever take the north road before?”
Janus stopped himself from sighing at the mention of their destination.
“I’ve heard of it,” the paladin said, “but I’ve never been on it.”
“My cousin lives in a small settlement right on the north road, not far from Greenfall. You can’t miss it.”
Janus was quiet for a moment, regarding the Militiaman’s words. Something seemed off about the request, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“It’s fair enough,” the paladin said, “but I’m curious why a Freeport Militiaman would ask a Knight of Truth to do it.”
“You’re a paladin.” The Militiaman placed the letter on the table. “I’ve never cared for your type much, but I do respect your honesty and sense of duty. I know that if you say you’ll do it, you will.”
Daks made a gesture to his companions, and they returned to their own table. The bouncers finally took their hands off their clubs.
Something inside Janus kept screaming warnings at him, but beyond dealing with a Militiaman, he couldn’t see why. He’d been wrong about people before, after all.
He placed the letter in his pouch. “I appreciate your vote of confidence. I’ll deliver it to him. What’s his name?”
“Daks.”
“And yours?”
“Also Daks. Our family names the first child Daks, son or daughter. Makes reunions confusing.”
Janus tried to think of a reply, but none came.
“And if I may,” Daks said, sitting next to Tyria, “I’d love to spend an evening with this lovely young woman.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tyria said sweetly, “but I already have a man.”
Janus silently applauded Tyria’s lie as Daks flashed the fakest smile he had ever seen.
“Your man isn’t here,” the Militiaman said.
Tyria took another bite of cobbler and reached across the table. She took Janus’s hand, interlocking her fingers with his. Her hand was warm, not to mention soft for someone who trains with a sword. Janus cursed the blood rushing to his cheeks.
“Oh,” Daks said. He looked between the two and stood up. “Thank you for fixing my throat, and please try to keep your dog on a leash.”
“Will do,” Janus said as Daks left without another word. The bouncers finally took their eyes off them.
Tyria squeezed Janus’s hand. “Your face turned really red.”
Janus chuckled quietly as Tyria released his hand and returned to her cobbler, smiling wider than she was before.
***
A gray sky covered the land the next day. Light fog floated in the air and gathered in clouds at the ground. The temperature would normally be considered pleasantly cool, but the three paladins’ hauberks quickly grew cold. The chain mail wasn’t cold enough for them to shiver, but neither was it warm enough to be comfortable. At the very least, it was peaceful and quiet, save for the sounds of their nickering horses.
The silence broke with Elliot’s pained groans, at least the fifth one in the last half hour. Taking advantage of being in the lead, Janus rolled his eyes. Elliot had been complaining all morning, his injuries from the previous day finally taking their toll. His face had swollen, more bruises had appeared, and his movements were stiff. It certainly didn’t help that he had stayed up late and woke up hung-over.
Janus tried not to take too much pleasure in Elliot’s suffering.
“I can’t stand this anymore,” Elliot said from the back of the line. “Could one of you lay hands or something?”
“No,” said Janus.
“You’re going to ignore a person in need and still call yourself a paladin?”
“Yes,” said Janus. Tyria stifled a laugh.
“Tyria? Please?” asked Elliot.
“I can’t heal anyone until this evening,” Tyria said. “I told you that already.”
Elliot sighed. “Will you at least do it then?”
“No, because you’re not dying.”
“I’d always lay hands on you if you asked for it.”
Janus tightened his grip on the reins. He wasn’t certain what annoyed him more: Elliot’s awkward pass at Tyria, the likely chance he was using a blessing of Mithaniel Marr as an innuendo, or that he was using the oldest innuendo in the book.
Aside from Elliot’s periodic moaning, the journey continued without bother for another two hours. The north road was rarely used these days. Not two miles away to the north was the edge of Nektolus Forest. The trees of Nektolus Forest reached far and wide, allowing very little sunlight through. Dangerous creatures, both living and undead, made their homes in the dark crevices and ancient ruins that dotted the forest. Worst of all, Nektolus housed the entrance to Neriak, the city of the dark elves.
“Tyria,” said Janus. Tyria rode up alongside him, Elliot close behind.
“We’re only a few hours away from Greenfall, right?” Janus asked.
“I believe so.”
Janus frowned. “Shouldn’t we have reached the village by this point? I haven’t seen any signs of life on this road at all.
“He did say that it was a small settlement.” Tyria bit her lip. “I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.”
Elliot rode up ahead the two of them. “Don’t be so scared, Janus.”
Janus shot an annoyed look at Elliot, but then his eyes widened at a heavy amount of brush in the road.
“Elliot, don’t—”
Elliot’s horse shrieked as the brush gave way to a deep pit. Janus and Tyria dismounted and rushed to the hole, calling Elliot’s name.
“I’m all right.” Elliot groaned and coughed. “Horse is dead.” His face went white as he finally noticed the sharp stakes in the pit floor, in particular the one just by his groin.
“A little help here would be appreciated.”
Janus and Tyria went back to their horses for some rope. As Janus rummaged through his saddlebag, he glanced up at Tyria. She was staring down the road, eyes wide and face pale. Janus slowly followed her gaze.
Orcs of the Deathfist tribe stared them down, gnarled bows drawn. They were tall and broad with dark green skin and squashed faces. Their beady red eyes glared at the paladins, and the orcs snarled, bearing savage yellowed teeth.
All wore crude armor of bronze scales, save for one orc. Its rough clothing was adorned with colorful feathers and jewelry made of bones and skulls. The crooked staff in its hand was similarly decorated. Its top glowed as the orc muttered words in some harsh tongue.
Pain seized Janus’s temples as the orc continued its chant. He fell to his knees, clutching his head and shouting in pain. He could hear nothing but the muffled screams of his companions and the pounding of his own heart. His vision blurred as the pain grew worse, the orc’s chant echoing in the paladin’s mind.
Then everything went black.
Chapter 3
Tyria awoke first, but soon wished she hadn’t. She was shoved or punched for every sound or unauthorized move she made. Hands tied behind her and a rope around her neck, she followed the band of orcs through Nektolus Forest. She looked around for Janus or Elliot, but took a punch for her trouble.
They soon arrived at an old stone fort. It was dirty and many of its features had long since crumbled, but the etched designs still showed through. They were flowing, flowery, and beautiful. Tyria guessed it was made by her own people, centuries or even millennia before, when they still made their home on this continent. In any other situation she would have gladly visited the ruin.
They marched through the front doors and into the main hall. It was large enough for at least two hundred people, though the tables and chairs suggested it rarely went above twenty. Thick pillars dotted the room. The walls were lined with barrels and boxes, leopard skins hung from the rafters, and a large section of the hall at the opposite end rose a step higher than the rest of the floor.
Tyria snapped back into reality as three spears pointed at her face. She stood still as her bonds were cut. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Janus and Elliot, still unconscious, being dropped unceremoniously onto the stone floor. Behind her was the rustling and clanging of orcs rummaging through their belongings.
Her eyes widened when an orc undid her belt. She jerked away, but a snarl and the spearheads coming closer to her head made her stand still. She closed her eyes as the orcs removed the rest: her surcoat, chainmail, under-padding, clothing, and even her boots. The orcs thankfully stopped short of her underclothes. She still wanted to hug and cover herself, but thought better of it when she remembered all of the earlier punishments for moving out of turn. At least the orcs weren’t leering at her as others would. In fact, they seemed almost disgusted by the sight.
An orc shoved her forward, and the march continued. They went through a side door, and Tyria immediately jumped with a soft yelp as she stepped on sharp rock. The guards snarled and urged her forward, but after a few more rocks, one finally threw her over its shoulder and continued through the twisting halls. Tyria allowed herself an irritated sigh.
They were carried down some stairs and finally left in a prison cell. Elliot and Janus, both as undressed as she, were again dumped on the floor. The orcs tossed in a bundle of clothing and slammed the door shut, finally leaving the three paladins alone.
Tyria went through the bundle, finding the light blue skirt she had packed, along with its matching top and a pair of slippers. She quickly put them on, and as she laced up the back of her strapless top, she was relieved that Elliot was still out cold.
Janus groaned softly. Tyria pulled her friend’s black tunic and brown pants from the pile and laid them on top of him, after she involuntarily stole a quick glance of his toned physique.
“Hey,” she said, gently shaking his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Janus answered with a pained moan and reached to his head.
“Me, too,” said Tyria, tossing the remaining clothes over to Elliot. She helped Janus sit up, averting her eyes as he put his clothes back on.
“Where are we?” asked Janus. “Nektolus?”
“On its outskirts, I think. I don’t know. I’ve counted about twenty orc warriors so far. There’re a handful of servants, and then that shaman.”
The Deathfist tribal structure was very simple: an orc that fights well is an orc that lives well. All orcs were created by Rallos Zek, the god of war, and the Deathfist tribe embodied their creator’s lust for conflict, even among each other if needs be. Weak orcs were demeaned with jobs unrelated to fighting, though they might gain a modicum of respect if they were exceptionally skilled in their work.
Deathfist shamans were the exception. Magic required study, time, practice, and most of all, patience. An orc who learned to wield it was respected not only for their power, but for their tenacity to stay alive for so long while studying.
Janus sat next to Tyria. “What are the Deathfist doing in Nektolus?”
“I don’t know.” She hugged her knees.
“Hey,” Janus said, placing his hand on her bare shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”
She took a deep breath and nodded silently. Off to her side, Elliot groaned and stirred.
“What are our options?” asked Janus.
“They took our equipment in the main hall. There were several tables set up, and I thought I saw some ale barrels and a cauldron. If they’re feasting tonight, they’ll fight each other for our gear afterward.”
“Feast?” Elliot thankfully had his clothing mostly on. “What do they serve at an orc feast?”
A chill ran down Tyria’s spine.
The cell door creaked as the orcs returned. They shackled the three companions’ wrists behind their backs. Janus locked eyes with Tyria, his expression calm and encouraging. Tyria tried to feel the same way.
“We’re going to die,” Elliot said quietly. An orc punched him in the face.
***
Janus kept an eye out as he prayed for any sort of divine help. The halls were in disrepair, with piles of rubble shoved off to the side, leaving just enough room for one orc to pass. Down a side hall, two orcs were in each other’s way and were locked in an escalating shoving match. Janus couldn’t help but stare, but a push and a barked order kept him moving.
They finally reached the main hall. Immediately he spotted their equipment on the opposite wall, along with small piles of gold and platinum coins and semiprecious stones. Their hauberks and longswords were prominently displayed.
They finally stopped at the end of the hall, just ten steps away from a cauldron large enough to squeeze in a handful of adults. Steam rose from the water inside as the flames beneath it did their job. Janus’s eyes widened.
“Welcome guests! Welcome!” A dark elf stood up from a nearby bench. He grinned widely, revealing perfectly set teeth as white as his long hair. Like others of his race, his skin was dark blue. He wore an expertly crafted long coat of red and gold, left open to display his muscular torso.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued. “I am Xen of House D’vol, shadowknight of Innoruuk, the Prince of Hate, and liaison between Neriak and the Deathfist tribe.”
He motioned toward the orc shaman, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with closed eyes.
“I believe you have already met Claw. He’s what passes for leadership around here.”
Claw said nothing, nor did he react in any manner. Magic required a tremendous amount of mental will, and Janus wondered if Claw was recovering from his—Janus found it difficult to call a creature with a name “it”—earlier spell. If so, how much could he do now?
Xen shrugged. “He’s not the most hospitable of sorts.”
“Enough games,” said Janus. “What are you doing here? Who told you we were coming?”
“Oh, come now, paladin, I’m sure you know already.” Xen waved Daks’s letter in Janus’s face. “I don’t know what you did to anger this man so much, but it doesn’t really matter. I’m just surprised you were dumb enough to trust your order’s sworn enemy.”
Tyria swore under her breath, and Elliot glared at Janus. “You idiot!”
Janus ignored the squire and focused on the dark elf. “So, what happens now?”
Xen smiled widely. “Well, you’ll stay here for dinner, of course. The choice morsels will go to Claw and me, while the rest of the tribe will fight over the remaining meat.
“Of course, there will be plenty for them to share, as I will not eat very much. Orc cuisine leaves a lot to be desired.” He gestured to the steaming cauldron. “The water will fuse your flesh and clothing together in little time. It gives the meat a rather nauseating taste and disgusting texture, but the orcs enjoy it.”
Janus’s heart pounded.
“My fare,” Xen continued, “will be much more elegant.” He stepped up to Tyria and placed his hand on her cheek. The orcs held her still as Xen ran his hand down her neck.
Elliot and Janus protested and tried to pull away from their captors, but were quickly beaten back into place.
Tyria’s breath grew deep. “Don’t—” she said, glaring, “—touch me.”
The high elf squirmed as Xen ran his hand down to her bosom, cupping the top of her breast and pressing his palm over her heart.
“We rarely get high elves around here,” said the shadowknight, “and high elf hearts have always been one of my most favorite dishes. You, my dear, are a delicacy.”
“Please stop!” Elliot cried.
Raising an eyebrow, Xen released Tyria’s breast and took a closer look at Elliot.
“Finally, some manners. What’s troubling you, my dear boy?” He reached inside the neck of Elliot’s tunic placed his palm on the squire’s heart. “Are you afraid of death? Pain? Both?”
“I don’t want to die. I don’t want Tyria to die.”
Janus didn’t like where this was going.
“Tyria,” said Xen, removing his hand. “This one here? Lovely name for a lovely maiden. Tell me, child, what will you do or say for me to spare you and your precious girl? Mind you, I have not eaten a high elf heart in quite some time.”
Elliot looked him in the eye. “Janus could tell you secrets about the Knights of Truth.”
“Elliot, no!” Tyria shouted. An orc slapped its hand over her mouth.
Janus growled and clenched his fists, now more angry at Elliot than Xen. He wasn’t sure if the fact that he had no secrets to give made it better or worse.
“So,” said Xen, “you, Elliot, and dearest Tyria go free, while Janus here is hauled off to the torture chamber to tell us things about an enemy who isn’t much of a threat to us all the way out here. Is this what you’re asking?”
Elliot tried to look away, but Xen grabbed his chin.
“Answer me. Do you offer him in exchange for her freedom and yours?”
Janus’s face paled as Elliot remained silent. Tyria looked like she was on the verge of tears.
Elliot mumbled an answer.
“Louder, boy,” said Xen.
“Yes,” Elliot whispered.
Mithaniel Marr would not approve, but Janus wanted nothing more than to tie Elliot up and shove him down a flight of stairs.
“It’s a good start, I suppose,” Xen said, shrugging and letting Elliot’s face go. He grunted a few Orcish words to the orc holding Janus in place. It nodded and pulled the paladin away from the group.
The last thing Janus saw before being taken from the main hall was Elliot staring at the floor and Tyria’s pleading eyes.
deviantArt link: http://janus3003.deviantart.com/art/Ambushed-by-Betrayal-ch1-557845265
Fanfiction.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11484428/1/Ambushed-by-Betrayal
Chapter 1
The Sleeping Hound Inn was located no more than a few days’ ride from the surrounding towns and villages, not to mention the grand city of Freeport. It had grown greatly over the years, building four stories for guest rooms alone and an impressive two-tiered dining hall. The inn catered to travelers of all different shapes and sizes. Humans and half-elves were the most common sight, followed by halflings and a sampling of wood elves, gnomes, and dwarves. Sometimes there was an ogre or a dark elf, but they generally stayed away from the crowds per the insistence of the inn’s bouncers. Orcs were shot on sight.
The inn’s dining hall was packed. Waitresses hustled from one table to another as tempers flared back in the kitchens. Minstrels did their best playing jovial tunes over the din, and patrons rearranged tables and chairs as they saw fit. A cacophony of different languages, accents, and dialects filled the hall.
At a table in one of the quieter spots in the hall sat three members of the Knights of Truth, each eating their simply but hearty meals in relative silence. The Knights of Truth was a paladin order based in nearby Freeport, serving the will of Mithaniel Marr the Truthbringer, god of valor and divine champion of justice, honor, and charity. The order’s members all swore to various oaths during their training, abiding by increasingly strict tenants. It was taught that the oaths freed its members, and that oaths of sobriety and maintaining a sense of decorum enabled a paladin to better be ready and able to combat any evil that may arise.
Janus Kamaren was the leader of the group. He was a tall, strong human with medium-length brown hair neatly parted at the middle. His dark blue surcoat was pressed and straightened. He was generally a reserved individual, and his expression was normally one of utmost seriousness or even irritation, even when he didn’t feel as such.
Across from Janus was Tyria Elarra, a high elf. High elves were rare in Freeport, but nevertheless she had been born and raised there. Her parents were jewelers, and Tyria had inherited their love of finely crafted, beautiful things. She had altered her surcoat to flatter her lithe figure, and had also hand-stitched golden embroidery into its hems. Many Knights of Truth considered her luxurious fashion to be frivolous and unbefitting of a paladin, but she had excelled in her training and thus was generally left alone about her clothing.
Next to Tyria sat Elliot Dayson, a human with messy black hair and striking ice-blue eyes. Unlike Janus and Tyria, Elliot had not yet taken his vows as a paladin. He had trained for the same time as his companions, but he had repeatedly gotten in trouble for public brawling, injuring sparring partners, and generally being a poor representative of the order.
“Oh, hey, there’s some Militia sitting over there,” said Elliot. Janus turned around and, sure enough, there were six members of the Freeport Militia, all strong, human men clad in crimson red tunics.
Janus sighed as he returned to his food. “Just ignore them, and maybe they’ll ignore us.”
Elliot rolled his eyes. “Do you just see the worst in everyone?”
“You know they’re not our friends.”
“Oh, come off it. They’re not all the same any more than we are.” He hugged Tyria around her shoulders. “Right?”
“You’re right.” Tyria lightly patted Elliot’s hand. “But it still pays to be cautious.”
“It’s not like they’re orcs or something,” Elliot said. “They can be reasoned with.”
“Their leader is a fallen paladin,” said Janus. “He murdered a fellow knight—”
“Allegedly murdered.”
“—he murdered a fellow knight and now tries to act like we betrayed him. No, I’m not inclined to trust them.”
“Well, I’m going to go talk to them and decide for myself.” Elliot stood up. “Care to join me, Tyria?”
“No, thank you. I’ll stay here with Janus.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“No, Elliot.” She smiled. “Go enjoy yourself.”
“Don’t tell them we’re heading to Greenfall,” said Janus as Elliot passed him. “I’d rather not make the trip worrying about a knife in my back.”
Tyria cocked her head to the side. “You seem tense.”
“I’m fine.” He quieted for a moment. “Okay, maybe a little tense.”
“Scared of teaching novices in Greenfall?”
“Scared of Elliot helping us teach novices in Greenfall.”
“We’ll be fine,” Tyria said. “I doubt he’ll do much more than stare out the window.”
Janus returned to his food. “Hopefully he’ll fall off his horse and spend the entire trip in an infirmary.”
***
“—so he tells the paladin, ‘Hey, no wonder I can’t get it in, there’s a stick in your hole!’” Elliot grinned as the Militiamen laughed. They were largely confused when he joined them, but had gradually warmed up to him over the course of drinks and crude jokes they hadn’t heard before. Elliot was feeling happier, himself.
“You’re rather unusual for a Knight,” said Daks, the leader of the band.
“Still a squire!” Elliot downed another tankard of beer. “I can’t stand all the sanctimonious types I run into in the order. And trust me, they’re the majority.”
“So why did you even join?”
“My first reason was to get my parents to shut up. They’re devout worshipers of the Marr twins, and they were paying for it, anyway.”
“Why Mithaniel, then?” asked Daks. “Erollisi Marr is all about love, which I respect. I’ve seen some gorgeous priestesses at her temple. Even considered joining their order myself because of that.”
“Trust me, they’re prudes. Both Marr twins seem to have something against casual sex, or so the clergy tells me.”
“You sound like you don’t care much for your patron deity.”
Elliot grinned and laughed. “What gave it away?”
“Why remain with the Knights?”
“The benefits. Paladins are generally trusted, with no questions asked. The order also has access to high quality arms and armor, and Marr grants some blessings to anyone who swears an oath to him.”
“Such as?”
“Such as healing myself or someone with the touch of a hand.”
“All paladins can do that,” said Daks, “but only once every full day. Explain that.”
Elliot chuckled. “You should see the priests fumble over themselves when you ask that. They argue about it, saying that the gods are limited by an ancient, supernal pact or a lack of worshipers.”
“Seems like a lot of work for little payoff. Just hire a cleric.”
“Well, the healing is just one benefit. My personal favorite blessing—” He swatted a passing half-elf barmaid on her bottom. “—is immunity to disease!”
The men laughed as the barmaid glared at Elliot. The squire shrugged and smiled at her, joining in the laughter when she stormed off.
“Lad makes a strong argument, I’ll admit,” said another Militiaman.
Elliot raised his drink in reply. “I’d say it’s all worth a few prayers.”
“So,” said Daks, glancing over Elliot’s shoulder, “why don’t your companions join us? They the sanctimonious types?”
“Our leader most certainly is.” Elliot snorted. “You should have heard his whining when I said I was going to come over here. Luckily Greenfall’s not too far away, so I won’t have to listen to him on the road for too long.”
“You’re headed to Greenfall?”
Elliot laughed. “I said that, didn’t I? Sir Jackass over there thought me telling you that would be some kind of security risk.”
Daks chuckled and shook his head. “Greenfall’s a nice place. But no, he doesn’t have to worry about us. We’re returning to Freeport.”
“Well, I might suggest to him he’s being followed, anyway.”
“What about the elf? It’s rare to see high elves around these parts.”
Elliot’s muscles tensed. “She grew up here.”
“Gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“She took an oath of chastity.” Elliot looked Daks in the eye. “She’s not about to sleep with anyone.”
“Sanctimonious type?”
“Not at all. She just wants to be married first.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that one before,” Daks said with a laugh. “Every woman who’s told me that just needed some encouragement. Everyone has needs, and there’s nothing wrong with a little fun.
“Save my seat for me, boys,” he said as he rose from his chair.
Elliot clinched his fists. “Where are you going?”
“Seriously?” asked Daks. He thrusted his pelvis forward with a grin.
Elliot knocked his chair over as he sprang in front of Daks.
Daks looked down on Elliot. “Easy there, squire.”
“She’ll say no.”
“Isn’t that up to her?”
“I know her better than you.” Elliot’s fists trembled. “And the answer is no. Don’t waste your time. Or hers.”
“Hey, I’m doing you a favor. I’ll loosen her up tonight, and then you can have her as much as you want.”
Elliot’s vision went red as he drove Daks to the floor, punching him in the face again and again. Every voice and sound was muffled, and he felt nothing from the return blows. Exhilaration spread through Elliot as Daks’s soft throat collapsed beneath his fist. The squire’s ice blue eyes flashed with malice as he raised his fist again.
Something grabbed him from behind, lifting him from the ground and slamming him into the wooden wall.
“—is wrong with you?” the assailant asked, his tone furious.
Elliot swung blindly at his attacker, hitting nothing and being shoved to the floor. Elliot’s hearing and vision cleared as he was pinned on the ground, and finally he saw his attacker’s blue surcoat.
It was Janus. Behind him, Tyria was placing her hand on Daks’s cheek, a blue glow emanating from beneath her palm. Daks gasped for breath once, then breathed freely as his injuries faded as if they had never been there.
“Stay down.” Janus stood up and turned to the furious Militiamen. Elliot remained on the floor, his own hurts finally becoming apparent.
He watched Janus and Tyria argue with the Militia. Elliot couldn’t make out everything they were saying, but Janus’s raised hands with palms forward told him all he needed to know. Elliot growled. Once again, Janus was refusing to fight, not even to protect his companions.
It wasn’t long before the bouncers came to break them up. Tyria helped Elliot off the floor, and the three Knights of Truth left the Sleeping Hound Inn’s dining hall.
Chapter 2
Tyria sat quietly, her eyes traveling around Elliot’s inn room. His belongings were unceremoniously dumped on the floor and dresser. Elliot himself sat at the end of his bed, shirtless. He had angled himself to give Tyria an eyeful of his muscles, constantly glancing at her as he inspected his bruises.
Her eyes went to Janus, who was hunched over in his chair. His hand covered his face as he silently rubbed his temples.
Elliot cleared his throat. “So, are you—”
“Quiet,” Tyria said, though a tad harsher than she had intended. Healing someone with a mere touch, or “laying hands” as it was often called, always left her feeling empty inside. It was as if she gave away a part of her own soul every time she did it, and she never quite felt whole again until the next day.
Janus finally sat up straight.
“Okay,” he said. His face was serious, but not angry. “What happened?”
Elliot continued examining his arms. “Just setting a lecher straight.”
“And you couldn’t have done so in any other manner?”
Elliot finally looked at Janus. “He was treating Tyria like a whore, and I’m not about to let that pass by.”
“I appreciate the concern,” Tyria said, even-toned, “but your response was excessive.” Part of her wondered what exactly the Militiaman had said about her, but she brushed it aside. Regardless, Elliot added more detail.
“He said he was going to make you bed him, oath or not.”
Tyria shook her head. “He’s not the first tavern-goer to try, nor will he likely be the last.”
“Well, someone needs to stick up for you, because that’s not right.” Elliot turned to Janus. “And our fearless leader apparently has a problem with that.”
A glint of anger flashed on Janus’s expression. Tyria bit her lip and silently urged him not to take the bait.
Janus spoke slowly, his voice tinged with anger. “You’re on probation already. A stunt like this could end your training.”
Elliot laughed. “But that’s not up to you, is it? All you can do is cry about it to the Lord Marshall.”
Janus was silent for another moment. Tyria bit her lip harder, glancing between the two humans.
“You nearly killed a man tonight, Elliot,” Janus said. “That would have—”
“And how many bandits and orcs have you killed in your career?”
“Those were under entirely different circumstances.”
“Ah, so you’re the almighty judge of who needs killing?”
Tyria’s eyes were on Janus, whose hands had balled up into fists. She silently pleaded for him to calm down, but he didn’t look back at her.
“Walk away,” Janus said. “Learn to walk away from needless fights.”
Elliot laughed loudly, slapping his knee. “Oh, that’s great coming from you.”
Tyria’s face paled as she recognized the wild gleam in Elliot’s eye and realized what he was about to say.
“You do remember that walking away from a fight was what got your father killed, right?”
Tyria sprang forward as Janus and Elliot stood up, pushing them back from each other.
“Elliot, that’s enough!” she said.
Elliot smirked at Janus. “Set me straight if I’m wrong, or walk away if I’m right.”
“Elliot!” Tyria glanced back to Janus, whose eyes were screaming for blood.
“Am I wrong or right? Show me.”
“We’re done here,” Janus said, stepping back. “We’re done. We leave in the morning.”
“I thought as much,” Elliot said as Janus passed him and went out the door. “Glad we had this talk, Janus!”
Tyria followed, but stopped when Elliot touched her shoulder.
“Wait,” he said, “you don’t have to leave.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
She looked him in the eye. “Because I’m walking away from this fight, too.”
She left before Elliot could get another word out. She traveled the corridors and staircases of the Sleeping Hound Inn, finally stepping outside. The late spring air was pleasantly cool, and the sun setting behind the distant Serpent’s Spine Mountains covered the land in brilliant shades of orange and purple. After admiring the sight for a moment, Tyria continued down to the inn’s main grounds.
The Sleeping Hound Inn offered an expansive training ground with enough room for individuals and small squads to practice a safe distance from each other. The east side had an archery range, while the west was dotted with six-foot posts called pells.
It was at one of the pells that Tyria found Janus venting his frustration. He was striking it with a longsword waster, but stopped abruptly as Tyria approached.
“Don’t let me stop you,” the high elf said. “Go on.” Janus had always excelled at swordsmanship, and Tyria enjoyed watching him, both for the entertainment and the chance to learn something new.
The wooden sword became a blur as Janus resumed his practice. He stepped with each strike, moving forward, backward, and diagonally. He utilized both of the waster’s edges and struck from varying angles, low and high, right and left, circling the pell as if it were an opponent. For a minute straight Janus exerted himself as much as he could, throwing all of his intensity and power into his movements.
Tyria applauded lightly as Janus struck the pell as hard as he could, the resulting crack echoing in the early evening air. He sat down against the pell, wiping sweat from his brow and breathing heavily.
“Nice job,” Tyria said as she handed him his water flask. She sat next to him as he guzzled the water.
“Thank you,” Janus finally said as he leaned his head back and exhaled heavily.
“You broke the waster, though.” She pointed at the thin crack running down the middle of the blade.
Janus sighed. “Great.”
“On the plus side, that definitely would have killed someone.” She looked at him, frowning softly at his furrowed brow. She nudged his shoulder. “Hey, it’s all right.”
“Yeah, I can pay for it.”
“No, I mean …” she bit her lip. “I mean the discussion back there.”
Janus sighed. “I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up.”
“I don’t blame you for getting mad. Gods know I was getting angry, myself.”
“It’s just that when we were given this assignment, I was specifically asked to help get Elliot back on the right track, and it’s like he’s worse than ever under my watch.” He sighed again. “I can’t get through to him, and I don’t think I like him enough to really give it an honest try, either.”
Tyria said nothing.
“And his remark about my father—”
“Was cruel and uncalled for.”
“But he was right.” Janus looked at her. “Pa turned away, and both he and Ma died for it.”
Tyria threw her arms around Janus’s shoulders and squeezed, resting her head against his.
“Don’t do this to yourself, Janus,” she said. “What happened with your parents was not at all the same as what happened at dinner. You made the right choice tonight. You know you did.”
Janus sighed and nodded.
“Elliot just hates authority,” Tyria said.
“And me.”
“No, he doesn’t. Neither of you like each other, sure, but that isn’t hate.”
“I don’t know, we dislike each other quite a bit.”
“Would you let him die, if given the chance?”
Janus closed his eyes and, after a moment, shook his head. “No.”
“And ultimately, I don’t think he would let you die, either.” She smiled. “If anything, he’d save your life and never let you forget about it.”
Janus chuckled. “That sure sounds like him.”
She released her hug and looked into his green eyes.
“Thank you,” said Janus.
“Any time.”
They both stood, brushing grass off of their clothes.
“You don’t think …” Janus said, looking over the cracked waster. “I’m not unreasonable, am I?”
“How do you mean?”
“I know I’m stubborn, not to mention a stickler for the rules.” He looked up at her. “Am I unreasonable?”
“No, far from it,” Tyria said, “but you do take things too seriously sometimes. I worry you don’t have enough fun.”
Janus shrugged, and then smiled at her. “Would you remind me to loosen up now and then?
“I’m going to start now. I hear this inn has the best cobbler outside of Rivervale, and we need to find out if that’s true.” She smirked. “Knights of Truth, after all.”
Janus groaned and rubbed his brow as he followed Tyria.
***
The bouncers, two burly humans armed with clubs, both raised an eyebrow when Janus and Tyria came again to the dining hall, but said and did nothing to stop them. The dining hall was quieter than earlier, but there were still a handful of groups spread out among the tables. Janus and Tyria found themselves a corner and were soon enjoying delicious cobbler. Janus wasn’t so certain it was the best outside the halfling city of Rivervale, or worth the ridiculous asking price of two silver pieces. Regardless, Tyria seemed to be enjoying her slice, so Janus kept his thoughts to himself.
“Paladin.”
Janus and Tyria looked up to see Freeport Militiamen standing by their table. Four of them, all muscular. Unarmed and unarmored, but glowering dubiously. The bouncers watched the two groups closely.
“Can I help you?” asked Janus. He had a fork in hand, plus a ceramic mug nearby. His chair was light enough to wield and strong enough to feasibly hold off an attacker or two, especially until the bouncers inevitably got involved.
“Where’s your attack dog?” asked the lead Militiaman.
“Not here,” Janus said. “What do you want?”
“How’s your throat?” asked Tyria.
The Militiaman’s hand went to his neck, and his expression and tone softened. “Much better. Thank you for your help.”
Tyria returned to her cobbler. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry our attack dog made it necessary.”
“Well, if you’re sorry—” The man returned to Janus. “—you can repay me for the trouble.”
Janus raised an eyebrow, and Tyria continued with her dessert.
“Your friend told us you’re headed to Greenfall. I have a cousin just on the way, and you can repay me by delivering a letter to him. You ever take the north road before?”
Janus stopped himself from sighing at the mention of their destination.
“I’ve heard of it,” the paladin said, “but I’ve never been on it.”
“My cousin lives in a small settlement right on the north road, not far from Greenfall. You can’t miss it.”
Janus was quiet for a moment, regarding the Militiaman’s words. Something seemed off about the request, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“It’s fair enough,” the paladin said, “but I’m curious why a Freeport Militiaman would ask a Knight of Truth to do it.”
“You’re a paladin.” The Militiaman placed the letter on the table. “I’ve never cared for your type much, but I do respect your honesty and sense of duty. I know that if you say you’ll do it, you will.”
Daks made a gesture to his companions, and they returned to their own table. The bouncers finally took their hands off their clubs.
Something inside Janus kept screaming warnings at him, but beyond dealing with a Militiaman, he couldn’t see why. He’d been wrong about people before, after all.
He placed the letter in his pouch. “I appreciate your vote of confidence. I’ll deliver it to him. What’s his name?”
“Daks.”
“And yours?”
“Also Daks. Our family names the first child Daks, son or daughter. Makes reunions confusing.”
Janus tried to think of a reply, but none came.
“And if I may,” Daks said, sitting next to Tyria, “I’d love to spend an evening with this lovely young woman.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tyria said sweetly, “but I already have a man.”
Janus silently applauded Tyria’s lie as Daks flashed the fakest smile he had ever seen.
“Your man isn’t here,” the Militiaman said.
Tyria took another bite of cobbler and reached across the table. She took Janus’s hand, interlocking her fingers with his. Her hand was warm, not to mention soft for someone who trains with a sword. Janus cursed the blood rushing to his cheeks.
“Oh,” Daks said. He looked between the two and stood up. “Thank you for fixing my throat, and please try to keep your dog on a leash.”
“Will do,” Janus said as Daks left without another word. The bouncers finally took their eyes off them.
Tyria squeezed Janus’s hand. “Your face turned really red.”
Janus chuckled quietly as Tyria released his hand and returned to her cobbler, smiling wider than she was before.
***
A gray sky covered the land the next day. Light fog floated in the air and gathered in clouds at the ground. The temperature would normally be considered pleasantly cool, but the three paladins’ hauberks quickly grew cold. The chain mail wasn’t cold enough for them to shiver, but neither was it warm enough to be comfortable. At the very least, it was peaceful and quiet, save for the sounds of their nickering horses.
The silence broke with Elliot’s pained groans, at least the fifth one in the last half hour. Taking advantage of being in the lead, Janus rolled his eyes. Elliot had been complaining all morning, his injuries from the previous day finally taking their toll. His face had swollen, more bruises had appeared, and his movements were stiff. It certainly didn’t help that he had stayed up late and woke up hung-over.
Janus tried not to take too much pleasure in Elliot’s suffering.
“I can’t stand this anymore,” Elliot said from the back of the line. “Could one of you lay hands or something?”
“No,” said Janus.
“You’re going to ignore a person in need and still call yourself a paladin?”
“Yes,” said Janus. Tyria stifled a laugh.
“Tyria? Please?” asked Elliot.
“I can’t heal anyone until this evening,” Tyria said. “I told you that already.”
Elliot sighed. “Will you at least do it then?”
“No, because you’re not dying.”
“I’d always lay hands on you if you asked for it.”
Janus tightened his grip on the reins. He wasn’t certain what annoyed him more: Elliot’s awkward pass at Tyria, the likely chance he was using a blessing of Mithaniel Marr as an innuendo, or that he was using the oldest innuendo in the book.
Aside from Elliot’s periodic moaning, the journey continued without bother for another two hours. The north road was rarely used these days. Not two miles away to the north was the edge of Nektolus Forest. The trees of Nektolus Forest reached far and wide, allowing very little sunlight through. Dangerous creatures, both living and undead, made their homes in the dark crevices and ancient ruins that dotted the forest. Worst of all, Nektolus housed the entrance to Neriak, the city of the dark elves.
“Tyria,” said Janus. Tyria rode up alongside him, Elliot close behind.
“We’re only a few hours away from Greenfall, right?” Janus asked.
“I believe so.”
Janus frowned. “Shouldn’t we have reached the village by this point? I haven’t seen any signs of life on this road at all.
“He did say that it was a small settlement.” Tyria bit her lip. “I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.”
Elliot rode up ahead the two of them. “Don’t be so scared, Janus.”
Janus shot an annoyed look at Elliot, but then his eyes widened at a heavy amount of brush in the road.
“Elliot, don’t—”
Elliot’s horse shrieked as the brush gave way to a deep pit. Janus and Tyria dismounted and rushed to the hole, calling Elliot’s name.
“I’m all right.” Elliot groaned and coughed. “Horse is dead.” His face went white as he finally noticed the sharp stakes in the pit floor, in particular the one just by his groin.
“A little help here would be appreciated.”
Janus and Tyria went back to their horses for some rope. As Janus rummaged through his saddlebag, he glanced up at Tyria. She was staring down the road, eyes wide and face pale. Janus slowly followed her gaze.
Orcs of the Deathfist tribe stared them down, gnarled bows drawn. They were tall and broad with dark green skin and squashed faces. Their beady red eyes glared at the paladins, and the orcs snarled, bearing savage yellowed teeth.
All wore crude armor of bronze scales, save for one orc. Its rough clothing was adorned with colorful feathers and jewelry made of bones and skulls. The crooked staff in its hand was similarly decorated. Its top glowed as the orc muttered words in some harsh tongue.
Pain seized Janus’s temples as the orc continued its chant. He fell to his knees, clutching his head and shouting in pain. He could hear nothing but the muffled screams of his companions and the pounding of his own heart. His vision blurred as the pain grew worse, the orc’s chant echoing in the paladin’s mind.
Then everything went black.
Chapter 3
Tyria awoke first, but soon wished she hadn’t. She was shoved or punched for every sound or unauthorized move she made. Hands tied behind her and a rope around her neck, she followed the band of orcs through Nektolus Forest. She looked around for Janus or Elliot, but took a punch for her trouble.
They soon arrived at an old stone fort. It was dirty and many of its features had long since crumbled, but the etched designs still showed through. They were flowing, flowery, and beautiful. Tyria guessed it was made by her own people, centuries or even millennia before, when they still made their home on this continent. In any other situation she would have gladly visited the ruin.
They marched through the front doors and into the main hall. It was large enough for at least two hundred people, though the tables and chairs suggested it rarely went above twenty. Thick pillars dotted the room. The walls were lined with barrels and boxes, leopard skins hung from the rafters, and a large section of the hall at the opposite end rose a step higher than the rest of the floor.
Tyria snapped back into reality as three spears pointed at her face. She stood still as her bonds were cut. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Janus and Elliot, still unconscious, being dropped unceremoniously onto the stone floor. Behind her was the rustling and clanging of orcs rummaging through their belongings.
Her eyes widened when an orc undid her belt. She jerked away, but a snarl and the spearheads coming closer to her head made her stand still. She closed her eyes as the orcs removed the rest: her surcoat, chainmail, under-padding, clothing, and even her boots. The orcs thankfully stopped short of her underclothes. She still wanted to hug and cover herself, but thought better of it when she remembered all of the earlier punishments for moving out of turn. At least the orcs weren’t leering at her as others would. In fact, they seemed almost disgusted by the sight.
An orc shoved her forward, and the march continued. They went through a side door, and Tyria immediately jumped with a soft yelp as she stepped on sharp rock. The guards snarled and urged her forward, but after a few more rocks, one finally threw her over its shoulder and continued through the twisting halls. Tyria allowed herself an irritated sigh.
They were carried down some stairs and finally left in a prison cell. Elliot and Janus, both as undressed as she, were again dumped on the floor. The orcs tossed in a bundle of clothing and slammed the door shut, finally leaving the three paladins alone.
Tyria went through the bundle, finding the light blue skirt she had packed, along with its matching top and a pair of slippers. She quickly put them on, and as she laced up the back of her strapless top, she was relieved that Elliot was still out cold.
Janus groaned softly. Tyria pulled her friend’s black tunic and brown pants from the pile and laid them on top of him, after she involuntarily stole a quick glance of his toned physique.
“Hey,” she said, gently shaking his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Janus answered with a pained moan and reached to his head.
“Me, too,” said Tyria, tossing the remaining clothes over to Elliot. She helped Janus sit up, averting her eyes as he put his clothes back on.
“Where are we?” asked Janus. “Nektolus?”
“On its outskirts, I think. I don’t know. I’ve counted about twenty orc warriors so far. There’re a handful of servants, and then that shaman.”
The Deathfist tribal structure was very simple: an orc that fights well is an orc that lives well. All orcs were created by Rallos Zek, the god of war, and the Deathfist tribe embodied their creator’s lust for conflict, even among each other if needs be. Weak orcs were demeaned with jobs unrelated to fighting, though they might gain a modicum of respect if they were exceptionally skilled in their work.
Deathfist shamans were the exception. Magic required study, time, practice, and most of all, patience. An orc who learned to wield it was respected not only for their power, but for their tenacity to stay alive for so long while studying.
Janus sat next to Tyria. “What are the Deathfist doing in Nektolus?”
“I don’t know.” She hugged her knees.
“Hey,” Janus said, placing his hand on her bare shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”
She took a deep breath and nodded silently. Off to her side, Elliot groaned and stirred.
“What are our options?” asked Janus.
“They took our equipment in the main hall. There were several tables set up, and I thought I saw some ale barrels and a cauldron. If they’re feasting tonight, they’ll fight each other for our gear afterward.”
“Feast?” Elliot thankfully had his clothing mostly on. “What do they serve at an orc feast?”
A chill ran down Tyria’s spine.
The cell door creaked as the orcs returned. They shackled the three companions’ wrists behind their backs. Janus locked eyes with Tyria, his expression calm and encouraging. Tyria tried to feel the same way.
“We’re going to die,” Elliot said quietly. An orc punched him in the face.
***
Janus kept an eye out as he prayed for any sort of divine help. The halls were in disrepair, with piles of rubble shoved off to the side, leaving just enough room for one orc to pass. Down a side hall, two orcs were in each other’s way and were locked in an escalating shoving match. Janus couldn’t help but stare, but a push and a barked order kept him moving.
They finally reached the main hall. Immediately he spotted their equipment on the opposite wall, along with small piles of gold and platinum coins and semiprecious stones. Their hauberks and longswords were prominently displayed.
They finally stopped at the end of the hall, just ten steps away from a cauldron large enough to squeeze in a handful of adults. Steam rose from the water inside as the flames beneath it did their job. Janus’s eyes widened.
“Welcome guests! Welcome!” A dark elf stood up from a nearby bench. He grinned widely, revealing perfectly set teeth as white as his long hair. Like others of his race, his skin was dark blue. He wore an expertly crafted long coat of red and gold, left open to display his muscular torso.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued. “I am Xen of House D’vol, shadowknight of Innoruuk, the Prince of Hate, and liaison between Neriak and the Deathfist tribe.”
He motioned toward the orc shaman, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with closed eyes.
“I believe you have already met Claw. He’s what passes for leadership around here.”
Claw said nothing, nor did he react in any manner. Magic required a tremendous amount of mental will, and Janus wondered if Claw was recovering from his—Janus found it difficult to call a creature with a name “it”—earlier spell. If so, how much could he do now?
Xen shrugged. “He’s not the most hospitable of sorts.”
“Enough games,” said Janus. “What are you doing here? Who told you we were coming?”
“Oh, come now, paladin, I’m sure you know already.” Xen waved Daks’s letter in Janus’s face. “I don’t know what you did to anger this man so much, but it doesn’t really matter. I’m just surprised you were dumb enough to trust your order’s sworn enemy.”
Tyria swore under her breath, and Elliot glared at Janus. “You idiot!”
Janus ignored the squire and focused on the dark elf. “So, what happens now?”
Xen smiled widely. “Well, you’ll stay here for dinner, of course. The choice morsels will go to Claw and me, while the rest of the tribe will fight over the remaining meat.
“Of course, there will be plenty for them to share, as I will not eat very much. Orc cuisine leaves a lot to be desired.” He gestured to the steaming cauldron. “The water will fuse your flesh and clothing together in little time. It gives the meat a rather nauseating taste and disgusting texture, but the orcs enjoy it.”
Janus’s heart pounded.
“My fare,” Xen continued, “will be much more elegant.” He stepped up to Tyria and placed his hand on her cheek. The orcs held her still as Xen ran his hand down her neck.
Elliot and Janus protested and tried to pull away from their captors, but were quickly beaten back into place.
Tyria’s breath grew deep. “Don’t—” she said, glaring, “—touch me.”
The high elf squirmed as Xen ran his hand down to her bosom, cupping the top of her breast and pressing his palm over her heart.
“We rarely get high elves around here,” said the shadowknight, “and high elf hearts have always been one of my most favorite dishes. You, my dear, are a delicacy.”
“Please stop!” Elliot cried.
Raising an eyebrow, Xen released Tyria’s breast and took a closer look at Elliot.
“Finally, some manners. What’s troubling you, my dear boy?” He reached inside the neck of Elliot’s tunic placed his palm on the squire’s heart. “Are you afraid of death? Pain? Both?”
“I don’t want to die. I don’t want Tyria to die.”
Janus didn’t like where this was going.
“Tyria,” said Xen, removing his hand. “This one here? Lovely name for a lovely maiden. Tell me, child, what will you do or say for me to spare you and your precious girl? Mind you, I have not eaten a high elf heart in quite some time.”
Elliot looked him in the eye. “Janus could tell you secrets about the Knights of Truth.”
“Elliot, no!” Tyria shouted. An orc slapped its hand over her mouth.
Janus growled and clenched his fists, now more angry at Elliot than Xen. He wasn’t sure if the fact that he had no secrets to give made it better or worse.
“So,” said Xen, “you, Elliot, and dearest Tyria go free, while Janus here is hauled off to the torture chamber to tell us things about an enemy who isn’t much of a threat to us all the way out here. Is this what you’re asking?”
Elliot tried to look away, but Xen grabbed his chin.
“Answer me. Do you offer him in exchange for her freedom and yours?”
Janus’s face paled as Elliot remained silent. Tyria looked like she was on the verge of tears.
Elliot mumbled an answer.
“Louder, boy,” said Xen.
“Yes,” Elliot whispered.
Mithaniel Marr would not approve, but Janus wanted nothing more than to tie Elliot up and shove him down a flight of stairs.
“It’s a good start, I suppose,” Xen said, shrugging and letting Elliot’s face go. He grunted a few Orcish words to the orc holding Janus in place. It nodded and pulled the paladin away from the group.
The last thing Janus saw before being taken from the main hall was Elliot staring at the floor and Tyria’s pleading eyes.