Chapter 14: Chapter 13: Swords and Crystals (LAST CHAPTER COMING UP NEXT!!!)

Chapter 13: Swords and Crystals

They came down to the under docks called Zehr Skale, though Arash had only seen them once or twice when his father took the ships downriver. The lift leading down was massive, and it creaked and groaned as the palace guards lowered them down.

Sahar told the guards they had found stationed at the lift to disable it after the party reached the bottom. The men looked at each other worriedly, but he smiled with a reassuring nod and told them to prepare themselves.

Neither of the guards were reassured, and indeed, it was the high vizier’s calm demeanor that set them more on edge. They wished to ask him what the matter was, but did not, on account of his high station.

They had their orders, and they would carry them out.

The lift rattled and shook as it touched down upon the bottom of the shaft. The gate was opened and the part of forty or so bodies stepped out. Arash glanced about curiously, feeling safer down here, though he worried for his mother and father. I have to trust that my uncle knows what he is doing.

Murmurs abounded, mostly from the hangars-on that had accompanied them through the halls of the palace. For what reason Arash’s uncle did not tell them to seek shelter away from their party, he did not know.

The cavern was a natural space, the rock hewn and chiseled where it had not naturally formed well to allow large bodies of people or goods to pass through. The lift was designed to lift whole ship crews and cargos up into the lower reaches of the palace, and so proved perfect for their party to make a quick exit. For that is what my uncle intends—is it not?

The cavern was also reinforced with thick wooden supports in case of a cave in. They followed that cavern, moving quietly with Sahar and Usharad at the lead, Arash following in their footsteps.

Torches lit the way, and they finally came to a set of massive wooden doors that were opened and guarded by two men.

“High vizier,” said one man. “What is the occasion by which you come into to the quay of Zehr Skale?”

“The palace is under attack,” said Sahar. “You will bar this door from the outside and you will guard it while we make our escape with the prince.”

The men’s eyes widened in horror as they glanced at each other, then one of them saw Arash. They nodded. “We will not fail in protecting the prince!”

They passed through the doors and the guards shut them with a loud and thunderous knock, barring the way from inside the quay as they were told.

There were two ships that lay at anchor inside the cavern quay. Because the palace was situated upon a mountain where the river had a canyon into, the under docks had been built within a natural recess of the mountain and stalactites hung ominously. Bats cried in the dark places above.

Arash kicked his feet through the sand. Ahead of them lay the docks, an enormity of wooden quays and rafters and structures of wood that he was unaware had to be redone periodically, though now the wood was in quite good condition.

Father in to their relative west, a platform of wood with stairs housed a veritable fortress of wooden crates stacked high like towers.

Arash had seen Zher Skale in the year past, but even now he marveled at the vastness of the space, at the sheer amounts of cargo, and the quays, that could anchor six ships at once.

Beyond the cavern stretched out, narrowing where the exit into the Urmia began, and on the other side of the river was a sheer cliff face. For safety purposes, this quay was impregnable when properly defended.

“Do we take a ship?” one man asked from behind.

Another one spoke in a harsh whisper. “Of course we do, you fool!”

Many more murmurs abounded, particularly from the part of their company that did not carry swords while Usharad gave commands to the palace guards to fan out and to keep their eyes open.

Even Sahar swiveled his head back and forth. It was then that Arash realized that they had not yet escaped danger. Not truly.

The party moved toward the docks, and then suddenly one of the palace guards cried, “Assassins! On the decks of the ships!”

“I see them,” Usharad said.

“We need one of those ships,” said Sahar.

“Then we secure one,” Usharad intoned, his voice deep and carrying of a dangerous authority.

Swallowing, Arash’s heart started pumping again, and suddenly he felt terribly dizzy. He had been taken to extremes too many times this night, and now once again he was in extreme danger.

Everyone without a sword panicked, shouting as they ran across the sand in all directions. “Hold!” Sahar bellowed. “Stay together!”

“Guards!” commanded Usharad, “Forward vanguard! Left flank!”

The men, trained for war, many of which were battle hardened in one conflict or another, for there were many in the recent history of Ashahnai as well as some currently issuing forth, moved to Usharad’s exclamations indicating  the directions of attack

“Stay close, Arash,” said Sahar as he lifted his blade.

“These are different,” said Usharad, “not like the others.”

“What?” Arash asked quickly. “What do you mean?”

“Forward!” said Usharad. “Secure the ship!”

The palace guards were nearly twenty in number, moved forward with their blades. Projectiles came forward, and one of them cried out, falling to the sand with his hand over his eye as blood poured from the wound.

They screamed and bellowed cries of battle as they thundered onto the docks. Five others fanned out toward the mountain of crates where more assassins came from.

“Do not move!” said Sahar, putting out his hand. “Let Usharad secure the ship, then we can go.”

Arash felt naked without a blade in his hand—not that he posed very much of a threat with one, but even so, he had managed to save himself from the assassin in Bahktiar’s rooms.

From the crates, the assassins came forward, spread out in a rank of six men.

They quickly engaged the palace guards wielding various weapons, including swords, duel wielded daggers, and one even had a whipe that cracked forward. The assassin managed to get it around the neck of one of the guards, whereupon he pulled the man forward with such force that he was lifted bodily above the sand.

He flailed, thumping back down. The assassin moved forward in a series of flips and acrobatic moves, his whip whirling and snapping about. Sahar screamed and ran forward, her sword flashing this way and that as he defended himself from that whip.

Arash turned his head in the direction of the ships on his right where Usharad and the palace guards were making their way up the quay and gangplank to secure the vessel for their departure.

Turning back to his uncle and the other guards, he saw instantly that they were outmatched—perhaps not individually, especially not the high vizier, the Viper of Dar Shaq, despite his white beard and age, but the guards were having a hard time of it.

Thinking that any moment they might fall and Arash would be overrun, he kicked his bare feet over the sand to his left, running up and away from the confrontation on the sand, where he made his way up the wooden steps to the top of the platform with the crates and scaffolding.

Glancing back, he saw that one of the guards had in fact been killed, the around his body sprayed and flecked with blood and the assassin—now free, came his way.

His heart lurched inside his chest and Arash retreated into the safety of the wooden labyrinth, his feet thumping across the wood and his breath coming in short gasps. Perhaps I can lose him if I tack an erratic path!

Moving to his left, he took a corridor leading farther away, then he came to an intersection and took his right, ran straight fifty or so paces with walls of wooden crates on either side of him and towering far above, far enough to make the yellow-orange light of the torches upon the scaffolding all but useless down here.

Except Arash still had his crystal that Usharad gave him, and covering it with his hand, it projected just enough orange light through his skin to see by. He did not want to alert the assassin to his presence by wielding an orb of bright light.

He stooped suddenly, breathed heavily in several deep gasps and then held his breath, listening for signs of the assassin’s pursuit upon him. Save for the muffled skirl of blades and the cried of the men, there were no sounds.

He let out a breath, his lungs burning as he gasped for more air. Then he took another route that would lead him back in the direction of the ship. If he came out from cover now, he would find himself behind the assassins engaging Sahar and his men.

Arash moved slowly, breathing as quietly as he could as he moved forward. The prince stepped lightly on his feet, when he heard the creak of wood behind him, and far above.

He tuned, glanced and saw nothing as he held his fist aloft, but then his heart shook as the shadow atop the boxes moved. The assassin moved from a crouching position to a standing one.

The prince moved his fingers back, exposing the surface bright crystal which revealed the form standing above him, and he saw her. He shrunk back reflexively when their eyes met.

She twirled her wrists and the blades danced, her smirk underneath her sheer face covering one of amusement and… delight?

Arash took two steps back. “Stay back! My uncle is just over there!”

She laughed, then bent her knees.

She’s going to spring upon me!

He turned and darted to his left around a bend of crates, then to the right. Arash took the most erratic path possible as he made his way in the direction of the quay!

Quick pattering footsteps sounded above him and Arash screamed in sudden fear. “Uncle!”

When she landed in front of him, he lurched back and fell, the gasp coming out of his mouth like the ragged cut of a dull knife. He scrambled back, then lurched to his right, running as quickly as he could down the corridor of boxes.

It was just one wall of crates stopping him from jumping off the platform into the sand. Glancing back, he saw her behind him and ran, kicking his legs as fast as he could.

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While the prince swung his arms and grunted with exertion to get away from the assassin, his feet thumping with every footfalls, he sensed her presence nearing him.

Any moment she would thrust the point of her blades forward and take him in the back—kill him, where he would die in a pool of his own blood.

Light from the break in the wall of crates revealed a turn off point where he could escape, if only he could reach it!

Princess Tamu flashed into his mind.

She had nearly died to save him, and her pegasus mount Achujam had in fact died! I am not going to die here!

A shadow appeared in bar of light ahead and he almost gave up running then as the other assassin  ran up to cut him off.

Gritting his teeth, he screamed, running as fast as he could. If his last act be one of resistance, then let it not be said that Arash Al Hamiroon was a coward in the end!

The prince screamed.

When the man rounded the corner, Arash’s eyes shot open and he moved to his right as he managed to stay out of his uncle’s path.

Then he turned around so suddenly that he lost balance and landed on the wooden planks, his elbow scrapping painfully across the boards as he knocked about grunting from the impacts while his bright crystal thumped and bounced in front of him. Arash made a pained noise and jumped back to his feet as Sahar and the assassin both tried to kill one another in the narrow corridor of boxes, their blades moved invisibly in the dark as they both appeared like nothing more than silhouettes.

“Uncle!” cried Arash, and he reached out, snatched his crystal back up and sprinted forward, holding his light up high to give his uncle light to see by.

As he neared, Sahar said nothing as his feet moved across the boards with a dancer’s grace, his arms and elbows flicking quickly with every strike of his sword as the metallic clang and skirl of their blades filled the air with every impact.

Arash wanted to recoil, to wince.

“Do not interfere!” called Sahar.

“You cannot defend him!” said the assassin, her tone silky and feminine, yet hurried and full of tension. She was having no easy time of it, fighting the high vizier. “Give up, old man.”

“Never,” said Sahair, and without turning his head, he said to Arash, “Go, Nephew. Join Usharad and the others. It is safe, now!”

The assassin practically hissed at that news. “I will kill him,” she said. “This old man will not last long against my blades, boy.”

Arash had almost obeyed, had almost left Sahar there, but he hesitated. “uncle?”

“She is”—their swords skirled loudly, the sharp and metallic scraping of blades filling the space—“lying, Arash!”

“Uncle!” he said, moving forward behind him and holding up the light as high as he could.

As he neared, the eyes of the assassin woman narrowed and she recoiled somewhat. Arash saw the green hue, the slits in her pupils and his heart was filled with a sudden dread.

“Uncle!” cried Arash, “the light—it’s blinding her!”

“Silence, you filth!” she hissed.

“Is it, now?” he asked, sounding almost amused. “Stay safe, my prince,” finally said as she was starting to back away.

Then he moved, lashing out with his blade in a flurry of slices and overhand attacks, he stepped back suddenly, his back almost coming onto contact with Arash as the prince pulled his feet back to stay out of his uncle’s path.

As he surged back, the assassin came forward, and Arash lifted his crystal as high as he could, moving his fingers back so that the crystal could project as much light as possible.

She snarled, but still managed to do battle with Sahar, forcing him back farther. Grunting, he parried her attacks, then met hers with his own force, his blade going out in quick licking strikes that she defended with against expertly, but some of his strikes took her off guard.

“What is this?!”

Sahar grunted, attacking, and then finally answering mid flurry. “These are”—more flurries followed—“the old arts of the Daw Shaq!”

“Impossible!”

She parried, blocked and backed away, her movements quick, agile, and yet revealed a certain jerky desperation.

Sahar advanced upon her, his blade licking forward far too quick, when suddenly the shadow of a tall man appeared farther down the corridor. Arash’s hopes sunk as the second assassin came forward, and when he came into the light, he flinched as Usharad grunted, striking forth with his blade.

The assassin twirled around his strike, grunting frustrated that she was under attack from two directions, her blades moving in incredible speed, and yet her desperation increasing as she backed away into an alcove that sunk back two boxes in width.

“Kill her!” cried Arash.

Their blades skirled loudly, enough so to pain the prince’s ears as she screamed in frustration.

“Kill her!” he cried again. “You almost have her!”

“Shut up!” she snapped, grunting and thrusting forward with a clear and sudden anger with suddenly she shrieked and dropped her sword.

The weapon clattered metallically over the boards at her feet as she recoiled, pulling her arm in close to her body.

Arash let out a sudden cry of exhilaration.

The assassin looked at them both, backing away slowly as her snake-like eyes darted between the two.

“You cannot win,” said Sahar calmly.

She hissed wordlessly, her eyes flicking to Arash, then she raised her wounded arm, recoiling like a serpent, but as she lashed out, Sahar lifted his blade and brought it back down, severing her hand from her body.

A gout of blood sprayed forth, and Arash’s uncle moved out of the way as the woman cried out desperately, her scream full of agony and pain like nothing Arash had ever heard before.

The sound itself made him take pause as she shrunk away from them, holding her stump to her chest.

“You may want to drop your other sword,” said Sahar, “so that you can apply pressure to your wound—otherwise you will die.”

His tone was almost friendly, and to Arash’s great surprised, she actually listened to him, dropping her blade as she grasped above her stump, grunting painfully as the veins in her neck protruded.

For her extremely efforts and pain, he thought that she would have been red, but she had gone an ashen pale instead. She crouched, and the prince almost warned them, but—

She thrust her legs and landed upon the boxes above them.

“You are very agile,” said Sahar. “Now be gone.”

The assassin grunted painfully again, though this time her noises were mixed with frustration, as she did as the high vizier suggested.

Once she was gone, Usharad glanced to Arash. “Are you all right, Prince?”

“I am fine—uncle, that was amazing.”

“No,” he said, “you were amazing, young prince. Bringing your light to bear upon her helped a great deal.”

Arash smiled.

Then his uncle sighed. “We should go to the ship. Have you secured it Usharad?”

The Royal Protector nodded. “I think so.”

“Then let us not waste more time here,” the older man said. “The gods have been gracious by allowing us to get this far. We should not squander what they have given us.”

Arash nodded, his eyes flicking down to the blades at their feet. He went and snatched them up, and Sahar looked at him. “Good thinking, Prince.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

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