Chronicles of Death

Katya kept her promise to Cordelia and waited a day. Then before sunrise she flew to Murne- the capital of Mahinaka.

Murne was easily spotted from the skies. No map was necessary for guidance to the palace either. It was gaudy, like something torn from the pages of an old storybook. It looked heavily perfumed, Katya thought. Curtain walls surrounded the bailey and palace. The palace’s towers reached into the sky with rounded roofs and spires topped with similarly rounded décor. The palace lorded over the rest of Mahinaka and cast a shadow over Murne surrounding it.

City buildings closest to the curtain wall and surrounding moat were built in a similar style to the palace. Arched windows, rounded roofs, all painted in lively colors with intricate detailing along the edges with filigree painted gold. The details shimmered even from where she flew overhead.

From above, the line between the rich and the poor was startling. Buildings were suddenly in a state of obvious disrepair. The roofs were not rounded, but flat- some often patched with tar. Many were crumbling to pieces. The buildings belonging to the poor that surrounded the wealthy were a sickly grayish brown in stark contrast to the lively rainbow of the rich. Fitting for Veran’s rule- to even deny color to his people.

Like the rest of Mahinaka only the appearance of the wealthy mattered. She imagined that Veran was unable to see the homes of the poor from his palace and so they didn’t matter. Veran did not seem to care for that which did not impact him directly. Katya didn’t need to meet him to know what kind of man he was.

Like the rest of Mahinaka, Murne kept up appearances so that the only thing seen on the surface was the wealth of the rich and not the cracks in the foundation.

The palace, though ancient, was well maintained. It was like something out of a painting. She landed upon the curtain wall next to one of the towers and listened for news. This would be the true test of Cordelia’s word.

Nothing felt out of the ordinary. The soldiers guarding the palace were few and far between. That and they didn’t seem terribly vigilant. In fact, they were rather slow moving and lax. She had expected them to be on high alert given that Veran was threatened enough by Lysette to have sealed himself within his palace. She wouldn’t be very motivated to protect a God as selfish as Veran either, if she’d been in their position.

Two soldiers stood before the gates that were drawn up over the crystalline moat surrounding the curtain walls. They would be left alone. It was unlikely that they would even notice she was there. If Cordelia were true to her word, then they would be dealt with later.

Within the bailey, on the other side of the gates, there were two more soldiers guarding a mechanism that controlled the gates and the bridge. It was archaic, with a large metallic handle and several locks that engaged the pulley system. One of those soldiers was asleep. The other fiddled with a pen and parchment.

They’d be dealt with easily. She took the time to get the lay of the land. If she could subdue the soldiers standing before the palace doors without having to kill them then she would. It would not be as easy to avoid bloodshed within the palace itself. Those within were likely the most loyal to Veran.

Gardens sprawled between the curtain wall and the palace alongside a shimmering stone path that then wove between the gardens. Two more soldiers stood before the grand, locked front doors of the palace. Between them was the first of four locks.

Was this really it? There was no other defense than these few soldiers and the locks?

The guards outside the palace doors chatted but their conversation offered her no insight into why things were so laid back. Perhaps she had overestimated the loyalty of Veran’s soldiers after dealing with his Generals. The fact that Veran was ready to leave his soldiers and citizens to Lysette while he hid in the safety of his gaudy palace with his 27 wives could have something to do with it.

She couldn’t imagine that did much for morale.

There was enough distance between the front gates and the palace doors that Katya could likely subdue both sets of soldiers without being seen by the other. That would give her plenty of room and freedom to deal with whatever lay beyond that first locked door.

She landed just within the curtain wall and hopped behind the soldier writing away on his parchment. He was muttering to himself words that rhymed. She released the form of the raven and slipped an arm around his neck. She used her other hand to pinch his nose closed and cover his mouth to stop his breath. He dropped his pen and parchment and struggled very briefly. Then he fell limp in her arms.

She rested him gently against the wall after checking that his partner was still asleep. Then she bound and gagged the man she’d knocked unconscious. She kept checking around her. It all felt way too easy. Like someone was playing a nasty trick on her. Yet nothing came of it.

Noiselessly, she approached the second guard and repeated the process. Arm around his throat, hand over his mouth and nose. He fought more fiercely than his fellow guard, clawing at her armored hands. It took him far longer to succumb to unconsciousness, but his struggle was pointless and silent. She bound and gagged him as well. Then she carried both soldiers into the garden, leaving them blindfolded amongst the bushes. She left distance between the soldiers, making it more difficult for them to work together when they eventually woke up.

The more time she had before they sounded the alarm the better. She wished there was a better way to deal with the soldiers within the palace than death. She would cross that bridge when she got there. Sometimes death was inevitable.

The shimmering path led directly to the doors and her black cloak billowed behind her. A shadow on an otherwise sunny day. There was no point in hiding or sneaking for this second pair of soldiers.

The soldiers at the door exchanged wary glances then held their spears at the ready.

“Halt!” One called. Katya withdrew her blade. When the first soldier struck, she twisted and cut through the side of his armor, knocking the chest plate open and rendering it useless. His partner lunged and Katya knocked the head of his spear downward. He stumbled and she punched him square in the jaw, her gauntlet rattling against bone.

Neither called for backup. Were his soldiers really this poorly trained? Or was Veran so confident in his locked palace that he hadn’t bothered to train his guards in case of an attack? Oh well. It was a mistake made in her favor.

One of the soldiers leapt at her and she slammed the base of her palm into his nose. It broke, blood pouring in crimson rivers down his face. The guard was yelling that she broke his nose, stumbling away while cursing.

Ducking beneath a sloppy strike from the second soldier, Katya allowed him to get closer then grasped his throat as he ran toward her. He gagged and she threw him to the ground, hand still at his throat. Kneeling, she covered his mouth and nose and waited for him to fall unconscious. Then she walked over to the man who was still tending to his broken nose.

He leapt, as if suddenly aware that there was still danger. He swung sloppily and she stepped aside and punched him again in the nose. He stepped back and whined in pain, cursing at her for hitting his nose a second time.

This was suspiciously easy.

She wrapped her arms around him and then leaned him forward so he wouldn’t choke on his own blood. Then she waited for him to fall unconscious in her arms, which he did- quickly at that. Afterward she dragged him into the garden, bound, gagged, and blindfolded like the others but lying face down so he wouldn’t choke to death. She’d barely broken his nose. He’d be fine.

Then she hid the second soldier further in the gardens. Afterwards she sat crouched amongst the shrubbery, hidden, and waiting for unseen backup. But there was none. Searching the palace walls, she made certain there were no other entrances. The windows were boarded over, shudders welded to the palace. It was tightly sealed, just like Cordelia said it would be.  

It wasn’t possible that it was this easy.

She was unnerved by the simplicity.

Cordelia had warned her that each lock would be guarded. If all the guards were this simple, then she’d be in the palace in no time. The keyhole was at the center of the door, surrounded by splatters of black and yellow. The décor surrounding it was fiery, curved, and curled along the seam of the door from floor to lintel. Alev’s key fit right in the lock.

It had to be harder than this.

She turned and a mechanism beyond the lock clicked and whirred.

Nothing happened at first.

Then there was a great groan of gears beyond the doors. They parted just a crack with a gasp of stale air. Katya listened and then stepped behind the door, grasping its handle. There were footsteps beyond and from how they shuffled, she counted four soldiers. They were waiting for her.

She felt bad for them. Those poor soldiers.

Left for dead within a confined space between doors, living only to protect Veran. Katya grasped the handle and pulled the door open but stepped backwards with it, remaining hidden from those beyond. The soldiers yelled but stopped suddenly in confusion.

“That can’t be right.” One of them dared to step beyond the doors and Katya struck. She grasped his cloak and pulled him behind the door with her. With a brutal blow to the back of his head, she knocked him unconscious. Chaos followed as the others scrambled to arms.

She’d been correct. There were only three more soldiers.

Sword at the ready, Katya dragged the first soldier with her inside the doors and closed them behind her. She dropped him in a heap of metal. They wore special armor, but it was poorly made. Frail. Red to match their fiery theme. It was designed beautifully- with flame and smoke designs on every inch of it. Leave it to Veran to care more for form than function.

The three remaining soldiers were briefly frozen at the sight of their fallen ally. Then they attacked in a disorganized cluster. Katya dodged their blows easily and studied their techniques which were not practiced. These were not Veran’s best soldiers as she had anticipated. Perhaps his best soldiers weren’t the most loyal.

With an easy twist, she knocked one into another and they fell like dominos. Then she moved to the only one still standing and wrapped her arms around his throat. She would rather them be unconscious than dead, but she would do what was necessary to get through the doors. If they offered her death, then she would offer it in return.

The two soldiers scrambled to their feet and Katya was suddenly thrown over the shoulder of the man she’d been attempting to knock out. She got to her feet quickly, ducked blows, and rushed around them. These men were willing to die to stop her. She would give them death in spades if that’s what they desired.

Blocking a furious blow, she forced the sword downward then bounced off the wall of the narrow space. She then smashed her hilt into the open face of the soldier’s helmet. He fell back while the others attacked. Katya blocked and dodged each blow with a practiced hand.

“Die! In the name of Veran!” One shouted.

If they were willing to kill her then she had to be willing to do the same. Death was still death with or without the moral high ground. Blood must be shed to kill a God.

She slipped beneath a blow then twisted the blade away and pierced hers into his gut. It pierced the armor, not an easy feat for most blades, but the Godkiller blade was special. Vrana had crafted it in an ancient holy forge created by forgotten Gods and had infused it with his essence.

The blade itself was black, hilt white with ornamental feathery designs. Black gems lined the end of the hilt. She would have thought it carved from bone had it not been so sturdy. With the magic of Vrana within the blade, she could channel shadow and darkness to do her bidding. She and the blade were one.

Shadow swelled around her and surrounded the soldier running toward her. It ate away at his armor, and she sliced through his gut and then ripped the blade to the side. Blood splattered over the walls. He fell to the ground, choking until death took him. Another soldier rushed toward her, and she took the defensive. With a step back she studied his form and dodged each blow.

The third and final soldier ran across the small room and smashed his boot upon a tile in the corner. A soft click was heard- he’d engaged some sort of mechanism.

The air suddenly rippled.

The tile radiated heat, glowing a violent orangish yellow. The soldier stepped away from the tile. From the ceiling, flames billowed in spouts. She could feel the phantom caress of their blaze. Not only had the gates been designed to protect Veran’s palace from intrusion but they had been designed to kill any who dared enter them- including the soldiers protecting them.

Veran’s selfishness was vile.

And the ceiling was on fire.

Great. She was on a timer.

Katya worked better under pressure.

The soldier who came toward her stumbled and she struck. With a few well-calculated cuts, his armor fell to the ground with a clatter. Katya pierced his chest with her blade, and it stuck in his ribcage. With a forceful slam of her fist on the hilt, she broke his ribs and drove the blade further into his chest. He fell limp and she pulled her blade free of him.

The final soldier removed his helmet, sickly gaunt as though he had not eaten properly in days, dripping with sweat.

“This is where we both die!” He laughed. His long stringy hair stuck to his skin. He was right. If they stayed much longer, then they would both be cooked alive in their armor. Katya had zero intention of dying there. There was still far too much to do. She had no time for death.

She supposed that meant she had to hurry.