CollaterHell

[Project_Xii]

Contract 2 – Sultan of Lut Gholein

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Collateral
Indirect, subsidiary, or accessory to the main thing
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“I can't do it, dammit! How many times must I tell you? I don't even think it's possible for demons to learn magic. Why must we persist?” Mortis banged his fist on the makeshift desk in frustration.

Zac smirked, despite the possible danger of the enraged demon sitting before him; “Nonsense. You can summon and control fire from within you, can you not? That's a form of magic right there.”

“Yes, but we are born with that, something we can do at an age so young we barely recognise it as a skill.”

“Give yourself time. Even an old dog can learn new tricks if he knows the rewards are well worth it.”

Mortis sighed and nodded, his anger subsiding. His ‘teacher' always had a way of killing even the worst tantrums. He gazed around the little room they used for his lessons; at the wall painted with black tar, covered in white chalk scribbles, at the assorted rarities decorating the walls on their shelves. And at the smiling face of the man trying so hard to educate a demon in this strange and alien world.

The ‘teacher’ was an elderly man named Zac Robinson. He’d lived most his life in the forests of Khanduras, a Hermit, but not unknown. Apart from being a highly respected member of a notorious thief guild, he was also a collector of rare antiquities. From the exoticness of the room in which Mortis sat, it was obvious the two careers complimented each other.

Mortis’s two year travels had eventually taken him over the seas, to the lands of Rogues and the Deserts. He’d stumbled across Zac, hunting in the woods, and was surprised to meet the first man who hadn't fled in fright. After the initial surprise of meeting each other, and tentative yet awkward introductions, Zac offered Mortis a bed and food in exchange for any stories he might know.

Zac was a wise, witty and extremely curious gentleman. And, as it turned out, extremely partial to stories, especially ones involving the brutal and blood filled wars of Hell. Mortis had come to believe that his knowledge of the fiery demon dimension was the true reason Zac had taken him in. It seemed all humans feared his world, yet were intrigued by it none the less.

Mortis had more then enough tales to keep the old man enthralled for weeks, and by the time his tongue was dry and mind raked to its core, they had become proper and steadfast friends.

With the tales dwindling, it hadn’t been long before Zac’s next subject of interest entered their conversations; the demon form itself. Although Mortis was highly uncomfortable with the idea of being studied, the old man claimed if he was allowed to do so, they both might gain valuable knowledge on the limitations and abilities of Mortis's body under the laws of this world.

He finally agreed, and Zac subjected him to many vigorous tests. The old man examined every inch of the demon’s body, from the space between his toes to the span of his wings. Zac had a curious room in his hut that he dabbed ‘the lab’, and inside was full of glass tubes and delicate instruments. Mortis was forbidden to enter, simply because of his bulky size. Zac didn’t want to risk him knocking over the equipment.

“A bull in a china shop, you mightn’t be. But you’re pretty damn close,” his teacher had laughed.

It was in this room that Zac did his most intricate work, analysing the demons blood through a cylinder full of glass pieces. He spent hours looking through the eye piece, drawing what he saw onto a paper pad he kept by his side always. The process lasted at least another week, but by the end of it, the amount of information they had acquired was staggering.

As Zac expected, the rate in which the demon body processed energy was far higher then usual. Yet his body still had the remarkable ability of storing the most vital of nutrients, allowing him to survive almost twice the time of a human without food or water.

The accelerated rate of regeneration was something Zac couldn’t explain. Any wounds Mortis received would inexplicably heal within hours or even minutes of receiving them, depending on the nature and deepness of the cut. These were unchangeable demonic traits, and did not seem to be affected by the laws of Sanctuary.

Hearing, eye sight, and sense of smell were all heightened, as was expected. Susceptibility to disease or organ failure was very low, his blood seemed able to identify and produce its own serums for fighting off poisons.

Mortis studied every inch of the old man’s report, not really understanding most of these statements, but one factor produced the biggest shock for him.

Life expectancy.

In Hell, a demon’s life was eternal. Locked up and away from harm, never forced into battle or drained by one of the Lords, a demon could sit on the edge of the abyss until time turned his body to stone. And even that happening wasn't a certainty.

In Sanctuary, Zac could give no definite age limit, but he could confirm that eventually Mortis would die like any other Mortal. From the time he’d spent looking at the demons blood, Zac had deduced that although Mortis’s cells aged far slower then any other living being he’d ever studied, they did eventually decay and die. And so, Mortis’s fate was assured.

Mortis was faced with his own mortality for the first time, and it was not a welcome feeling.

As more weeks came and passed, Zac began to share the wealth of knowledge he'd acquired over the course of his well travelled life. He revealed he was skilled at many basic magics that helped in his thieving career. When Mortis took a keen interest in these abilities, the old man devised some classes for his pupil, and so it came to be that the demon called the human, ‘teacher.’

“Look, it's a simple summoning spell. When you master it you will be able to call in, or vanish, any object of yours at will.”

“I don't understand how that works,” Mortis snorted. “Where do the objects go when I 'vanish' them?”

“Your mind. Your memory.”

“My... memory?”

“Correct. Or at least, as close to correct as we can get. In truth, no one knows exactly where they go. But they exist for as long as you remember they're there. But if you forget...” he made a 'poof!' sound and motion with his hands, “Gone. Forever. Many objects have simply fallen off the face of Sanctuary that way.”

Mortis mulled over this for a long time.

“That would indeed make thievery easy” he said thoughtfully.

Zac suddenly became very serious, and his expression darkened.
“No, Mort, it does not.” He pulled a chair in close and sat down, leaning in as if he feared the walls had ears. “What I'm about to tell you, you must never tell anyone else. Mort, do you promise?”

“I promise, Teacher. May I be cast back into the depths of Hell if I break it.”

“Good. Now are you listening?”

“I'm listening.”

“Can you hear me Mort? Mortis, are you listening? Mortis? MORTIS!”

*****

Mortis sat up with a start, almost colliding heads with the figure leaning over his bed. Braca jumped back and gulped.

“S-sorry. I couldn't tell if you were sleeping or not. Do you know you sleep with your eyes open?”

Mortis rubbed his neck and grumbled something under his breath.

“Yes. It helps to stop enemies sneaking up on me. I was just... dreaming this time.”

“Ah... well, I hope you're rested enough to receive your new contract. It's quite an important one.” Braca rubbed his hands together and his eyes shone dimly. Mortis grunted and got up off the bed.

“It's the middle of the night. Give me a few minutes to wake up before you start telling me about the throats I must slit.”

Braca nodded in agreement as he watched the demon walk over to a dresser. Mortis had called in some spare garments upon arrival at the inn; the ones he'd been wearing during the mission had been ravaged by the Rogues’ arrows.

He never wore much in the way of clothing. Undergarments for modesty, animal skin coverings similar to that of the Barbarians in the north. He couldn’t wear shirts or anything that required being slipped over his head, as there were very few tailors that designed them with wings in mind. There was, however, a breastplate that could be unfastened and clasped around his chest. He hadn't worn that out on last night’s job.

He opened a drawer of the dresser and began to flick through the various pieces he did have. And suddenly realised Braca was still watching him.

“Do you mind?” he said over his shoulder.

“Mind what?”

Mortis turned around quickly, strode over and grabbed the little man by the scruff of his well-pressed suit.
“Even demons like to have privacy,” he growled, and tossed Braca out the door before he had time to protest.

*

The small man with slicked back hair paced the hallway impatiently, wringing his hands, twitching like a mad thing. Finally the door creaked open, and Mortis filled its frame. He was preened and looked far more awake.

“Excellent! It's about time. My employers are very eager to thank you for your work last night; you were exceptional.”

“It wasn't much.”

“Oh, but it was. Brent was a powerful man; you did well to succeed as... intact... as you are now.”

“Yes. He was a -” suddenly the full details of the night before flooded back to him, and Mortis slammed the little man up against the wall. “What did you make me DO?”

“W-w-what?” Braca stammered.

“Brent wasn't corrupted. He was as loyal to the Rogues as he would be to family. You made me kill an innocent man.” Fire was beginning to build in his eyes, and the sudden reek of ammonia hit his nostrils as Braca's bladder released.

“He wasn't! He wasn't, I swear! Please, let me explain!” The nervous twitch had progressed into a full on contortion of the face, and he was sweating profusely.

Mortis squinted at him with his sharp golden eyes, smelling the genuine fear coming from his sweat. And his pants.

“Fine. You have three minutes.”

He dropped Braca, who fell against the wall shaking uncontrollably.
“Brent was a Paladin, in service to the Zakarum,” he began to babble, the words come out at a hummingbird pace.

“He was very high ranking, and so spent a lot of time with the High Council. The very Council that now stands corrupted and bloodthirsty in the Tower of Kurast. The influence of Mephisto is like a disease; it can viscously attack the mind immediately, or it can take root in the body, staying dormant for as long as necessary.”

“The Council and the Zakaramites were consumed fast, because they were so close to the source of influence. But Brent left at the first signs of other’s madness, thinking he could escape it if he was in another country.”

Mortis crossed his arms, his eyes still narrow slits. Braca gulped and pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe the urine from his trousers as he continued.

“My employers kept a watchful eye on him for all the years he spent in service to the Sisters, and it was only recently that we began to see symptoms surface. It starts with dreams; wild, violent dreams that make the victims buck in their beds. In the morning they can remember nothing, and so they go about their daily lives with no knowledge of what’s awakening in their bodies. Their mental state slowly degenerates, until one day they snap, and Mephisto has them. They become mindless killing machines, hellbent on slaying anything in their path back to the source, to protect it.”

He sighed, and stared at the carpet.

“Brent was a good man. It was hard on my employers to authorise that contract. We simply could not allow an event like that to unfold.”

Mortis stood quietly, his nails clicking tentatively against his hardened skin. He didn't look fully convinced.

“If that is the true story, why did you make a false one in the contract for me to go on? Why not just tell me the real reason outright?”

“Because you're you!” Braca replied, his voice rising. He'd stopped shaking now and had regained some of his usual confidence.

“My employers know what you're like; they know your unusual morals when it comes to women and children. By all rights you shouldn’t care who you kill, being the demon you are.” He paused, wondering if he’d overstepped the line a bit by the look on Mortis’s face.

"They needed you to fight to the best of your ability, and to do that they used the best weapon of persuasion; the lives of all the women in that Citadel. They knew you'd fight with all your fury to protect them. And you did, Mortis; you saved them. Just not from the danger you originally thought.”

Mortis leaned in close, his face inches from Braca's

“Then tell me why they all went crazy after I killed Brent.”

The little man gasped and pushed himself away from the demon, back out in the hallway as if he wanted to run.

“You... you saw that?”

“I did. It wasn't pretty. And I have no idea what instigated it. Do you?” he glared accusingly.

Braca gulped again, and then suddenly became very professional.

“The details of events that take place after your contracts are fulfilled are not necessary for you to know. You are hired to do a task, for a set price, with the information you are given. If more is required, and I and my employers deem it beneficial, we will provide it. Other then that, we expect you to either accept or decline our offers, and probe no further.”

Mortis immediately found himself wondering whether the man’s fear had all been an act, and perhaps this was the real thing. The change was unnerving all the same. Braca brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder and looked down his nose at the demon before him.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Mortis was silent, slightly taken aback. Nobody, certainly no man, had ever spoken to him in such a way. The dangerous edge in his employers voice, told him that perhaps discretion was the best course of action.

“My apologies, Mr. Braca. I will ask no more questions.”

“It’s just Braca. I currently have no birthing name.” He relaxed a little, sure now that he wasn't about to be disembowelled on the spot.

“If it makes you feel any better, Brent in himself had become a source for the madness. The women had contracted a slight dose, and that had been purged upon his death. The effects are temporary. They should have returned to a normal state of mind not long after you left.”

Mortis nodded.

“That helps.”

Braca reached into his suit and fumbled about, finally pulling out a neatly sealed envelope. “The details of your next assignment rest within this letter. If you accept it, we can offer you a sum equal to that of the last. Do you accept?”

Mortis thought for a few seconds, his mind reeling at how much money he was earning from the strange man before him. Then he nodded, and reached out a clawed hand.

“You'll like this one” Braca said slyly, “I believe you mentioned the Sultans of Lut Gholein last time we met?” He handed Mortis the letter. “Well, now you get to meet one for yourself.”

[Project_Xii]

*****
Desert. Mortis's least favourite landscape to traverse. The hot, moistureless air dried the membranous skin of his wings and cracked his lips. Yet despite those small discomforts, it was a place he'd returned to often in the past. He had a history here.

As he passed under the great stone arch of the cities entrance, he was almost relieved to see it had barely changed in the past seven years.

'Sands shift, people come and die. But this place never seems to age...' he thought.

The mighty palace of the Sultans towered above the smaller stone buildings, its impressive tear-drop shaped roof sand blasted but still magnificent. Not far from that was the two story brothel and exotic dance house. Mortis secretly hoped the girls had changed, even if the city hadn't. The market in the middle was a hive of activity, and laughter could be heard from the nearby tavern. He focused on the bar and walked towards it, aware of the eyes already beginning to watch him.

Out the front of the tavern, a middle aged woman watched a young boy playing in the street. Her husband watched too, an arm draped protectively and lovingly around his wife’s shoulders; a smile on both of their faces. The woman suddenly noticed Mortis, and her smile fell.

“Gel! Gel come quickly” she called.

The boy, drawn by the slight urgency in her voice, stopped playing and walked to his parents. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
By this time market chatter had began to fade as more people noticed the large figure strolling down the main street. The boy had seen him now and was squirming wildly in his mother’s arms.

Mortis stopped a few feet away, as the child finally freed himself. He ran towards the demon that was easily four times his size, hands outstretched.

“Mortis, Mortis!” he cried.

Mortis smiled and stooped to collect the boy.

“Gel!” he said, easily cradling the child in the crook of his arm. “You've gotten big.”

“Big enough to beat you up soon” Gel grinned. He balled his hands into fists and made a faux swing, “POW!”

“Whoa, easy, Tiger.” Mortis chuckled. “I’d rather not lose a fight to a kid in public. Bad for the reputation”

Gel's parents had wandered over, the woman smiling warmly now.

“Hello, Mortis” she said. “It's been a long time. I seem to remember you visiting far more often.”

“Hello, Atma” he replied, “Yes, I suppose seven years is a long time. To humans. But you haven't aged a day.”

She appreciated the comment, but they both knew it wasn't true. The grey in her hair and lines around her eyes portrayed the struggles and hardships she endured from living in this desert city.

“Mortis.” Atma's husband extended his hand.

“Ackmand,” Mortis took his hand and shook it slowly. There was no hostility between them; only the uneasy tension you would expect from a husband whose wife was standing in front of a being, widely thought of as an unpredictable killing machine. “You're looking well too.”

They listened in silence to Gel babble about his pet scorpion as they walked towards the tavern. And then a gruff voice spoke behind them.

“So, the Dune Hunter returns.”

Mortis stopped dead in his tracks. Eyeing Atma, he nodded and handed the boy over, before slowly turning around.

“Elzix...?” he said, somewhat surprised.

The balding man wearing an eye patch leaned heavily on his cane and limped down the street towards him.

“Yes, it's me. The man you left for dead among the bodies of my bandit buddies.” He scowled as he reached Mortis's feet, glaring up unintimidated.
“I owe you, demon.”

Uneasy silence. Apprehensive stares. The market was readying itself for a full fledged battle. But suddenly Elzix's face broke into a broad grin.

“Owe you for changing my life! Ha!” he slapped Mortis on the shoulder. “Good to see you. Relax already.”

Mortis allowed himself to breathe. The idea of killing in front of the boy had put him on the edge, and he was slowly concentrating on stepping back. Elzix's behaviour had him thoroughly confused.

“Changed... your life?”

“You bet! Turned over a new leaf. I'm an honest man now.”

Mortis raised an eyebrow.

“And my taking your eye and leg did this?”

“Hey, if knowing a beast like you is stalking the sands isn't enough to turn a man from crime... well I probably should have just stayed there and bled to death, cause I'm sure as hell you would have finished me off second time 'round. Besides,” he continued, “with the rest of the band dead I got a hundred percent of the loot.”

Mortis's features hardened and Elzix quickly jumped to his own defence.

“Oh, but don't worry, I used it to buy the inn on the other side of town. I run an honest business. And as a show of goodwill, I'll even let you stay the night free.”

Mortis finally relaxed enough to shake the old bandit’s hand.

“Thank you for the offer, but I won't be needing it. I'm not staying long.”

“Eh? You're leaving already? But you just got here!”

Another familiar voice. Mortis turned to see a wrinkly, toothless man wearing a fez. He had numerous bottles slotted into his belt and protruding from every pocket on his body.

“Lysander! You're still here? And still brewing those crazy potions, I’m betting.”

“Indeed I am! And I've just made a real boomer: my new home brew. If you think you’re up to it we can challenge at the bar. I guarantee it'll knock you socks off and burn like hell all the way down.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mortis smiled, “I don’t wear socks, so I’m one up on you already.”

The friendly greetings and familiar faces continued to drift in, and the day ebbed on. Mortis felt the warm feeling that was rare anywhere else: acceptance. The people here welcomed him for the deeds he'd done for them in the past, and to some degree he felt they were friends. He felt personally responsible for their welfare and safety.

So he wondered how the contract he held for the death of their leader was going to affect the relationships he’d developed within this city. If they found out, the repercussions could purge their faith in him in a second. He didn’t think he could handle that. It was, after all, the only city so far that saw him for who he was...

*****

Dusk settled, the haze of sand in the air bathing the city in a red glow. Mortis sat in Atma's bar, finishing the last of his ale. He found it bitter compared to the liqueur Zac once had in his cabinet, a stash that had been accumulated from a life of thieving from well-to-do merchants. But it was refreshing nonetheless.

The bar was almost empty now, save for two men in the corner. He recognised them both: Greiz, the captain of the guard and Geglash, a retired mercenary. He had spoken to them earlier, casual small talk about the West and its happenings. Now the two men were in a deep conversation of their own.

“I tell ya, it's not right! The Sultan can't just go pulling men out of me ranks without telling me the purpose.” Greiz was a hardened veteran, and expected discipline and organization in all things to do with his guards. “He can't keep me in the bloody dark like that.”

“I know -ic- whatsh ya mean. It'sh a consprishy! That'sh what it is... aaaallll pawnsh in the bigger.... scheme... of things.” Geglash had been retired for fifteen years after receiving a crippling belly blow. It didn't deter him form enjoying the grog.

“Oh... shut it, Geglash,” Greiz snorted. “You and your crazy ideas. Being retired's just given you too much time to think.”

“I'm telling you! The Sultan'sh... up to something...”

Something clicked in his mind, and Mortis realised the old mercenary was closer to the truth then the Captain wished to believe. Glancing around quickly to make sure no one was looking over his shoulder, Mortis closed his eyes and called in the new contract. He looked around one more time; Atma out in the back, the two men still in drunken conversation. Unfolding the letter carefully, he began to read through Braca's familiar bold print:

“Contract 2 – Sultan of Lut Gholein

Abdullah Hassani the 33rd, and his son, Jerhyn Hassani, are currently the ruling Sultan and Prince of the desert city Lut Gholein.

The Hassani bloodline has been known for its vast wealth and political power since the foundation of the city, and no one has ever tried to usurp their rule. They are also known for their great greed and selfishness. As each new ruler steps up to the throne, he becomes more heartless and self-serving then the last. Abdullah is no exception.

Under his rule, taxes have increased dramatically, and care for the city has diminished almost to the point where the citizens are now fending for themselves while making their fat leader wealthier. Abdullah is more partial to spending his gold on harem girls and personal slaves, which brings us to the reason for this contract.

Hassani the 33rd has a fetish for the 'exotic', and is entertained by foreign women far more then the ones found within his own city. Likewise he prefers foreign male slaves, as he finds it challenging to 'break' their strong spirits. Also, if one should go missing in a fit of the Sultan’s rage, there are no friends or family to questions their whereabouts.

To keep his supply of 'exotic' slaves fresh, Abdullah has arrangements to meet with a notorious kidnapper’s guild, four times a year. This guild travels the lands in large caravans, known as 'Human Zoos', where foreign subjects – mostly young so they can be broken and controlled easily – are sold to the highest bidders.

While my employers would prefer to eradicate the leader of these 'zoos', his location is, so far, still hidden. The best we can do his eliminate the collaborators, starting with Hassani.

One hour after midnight tonight, the Sultan plans to ride out with a formidable contingent of loyal guards and meet his suppliers beyond the canyons that lead to the Desert Oasis. Your goal: Ambush him in the canyon and eliminate this vile man. It is preferable that you also dispose of the body; fewer questions will be asked if he disappears altogether than if his mangled remains are found.
The guards... they know of the Sultan’s wicked business deals, and make no attempt to stop him. Do with them as you will.

My employers understand you have a close connection to the people of Lut Gholein, so they implore you to be as discreet as possible. Know also that Abdullah’s son, Jerhyn, is a noble man who shows no sign of the hereditary greed... yet. He still considers his people the highest priority, and they will do far better under his rule.

Remove the Sultan, make way for a better leader, and eliminate a buyer for the Human Zoos at the same time. People who have so little respect for their fellow man have no place in this world.

Braca

P.S. You are not the only one who wants the Sultan dead. Keep your eyes open, and don't -”

“Letter from home?” Atma inquired from behind the bar.

Mortis jumped. How long had she been there? He closed his eyes to vanish the paper, and discovered his hands already empty. In his shock he had done it automatically. That had never happened before.

“Hardly,” he said, “the demons of Hell don't even know how to write, let alone use paper. Making pentagrams and scrawling with blood is the best they can manage.”

”Sounds like a pleasant recreational activity for those boring afternoons?”

Mortis smiled. It was unlike Atma to be so blasé about Hell. In fact, it was unusual for any human to talk about that burning realm in a casual way. Most men, and women alike, feared it more then death itself. Death was, after all, not the end of your soul.

“It’s always afternoon in Hell, Atma. A never-ending twilight. The air is warm, and the plains are flat and rugged, spreading out for miles around. They have an end though; a drop off into a dark abyss.”

Atma had a strange look in her eyes now.

“You make it almost sound… nice. Something I’d like to see.”

Mortis’s smile changed to a smirk.

“That’s because I’ve neglected to mention the residents. There are creatures worse then I wandering that barren land. Foul beasts, who lust for nothing but blood and the flesh of the damned.” Mortis grimaced, “The damned… their cries ring out, tormented and mournful, and seem to go on forever. A human would go insane by just listening to them for a few hours.”

Now Atma was wide eyed and pale. She had unknowingly taken a few steps back from the demon; his words had reminded her of his true origins. Mortis felt a sharp pang of regret for mentioning it.

“But that’s all behind me now,” he added, hoping to regain her confidence. An uncomfortable silence continued between them for awhile longer.

“So… what was the letter about?” she asked at last, quickly adding; “If you don't mind me asking.

Mortis forced a smile this time.

“It's… a thank you letter from an employer.”

Atma knew better than to probe further. She'd been a young girl when she'd first met him, but the Dune Hunter’s legacy stretched back further then that. Bandits were rare occurrences in the desert these days, though once it had been rife with them. At the time, caravans could only travel with a large force of guards for protection, and sometimes even that wouldn't deter them.

Then a dark stranger, one not from this world, had come offering his services. It had been dangerous to trust him, but the people had no other choice. They had agreed to his fee... and in a mere matter of months nearly all the desert Bandits had simply vanished from Aranoch, leaving empty caves and hushed rumours in their passing.

Elzix’s band had been the last, and tales of the carnage had become whispered bed time tales for the children of the next generation – almost certainly ensuring they would want to grow up respectable, law abiding citizens.

Mortis pushed his glass over the bar and stood up, nodding politely in Atma's direction.

“Thank you for the free drink.” He headed for the door.

“You're not... doing anything tonight... are you, Mortis?”

He paused. She knew better then that, so why did she still ask? It was for own safety more then anything; Mortis knew what lengths some of his previous employers had gone to to keep their actions secret.

“Goodbye, Atma.”

It felt more final then he wanted it to.

[Project_Xii]

******
The sun had set by the time he left the tavern. It was that murky half-light; the twilight that came before total darkness. The time that reminded him most of Hell.

The palace tower was a tear shaped shadow, high above all else. He passed through the market on his way towards it empty now, aside from a few beggars still scrounging in the garbage heaps.

Braca had lied to him on the first contract. He had a plausible reason and story, but that still didn’t make up for the fact that Mortis's trust in his employer had been betrayed. This time, he was going to be certain Braca’s words held the truth. This time he was going to make sure the target was what he was made out to be. He was going to see the Sultan.

Though he was in good stead with the people of Lut Gholein, the Sultans had never opted to meet him. Every Sultan who had ever come to power during the time Mortis had walked the sands neither acknowledged nor praised his accomplishments for the city. They considered themselves too pure to consort with a demon, so to this day he had yet to see one of the great Hassanis with his own eyes.

Two guards stood in the entrance of the palace, supposedly alert and on watch. In reality, one leaned heavily on his spear, dozing, while the other picked nonchalantly at his uniform. Mortis nearly climbed the stairs to their feet before he was noticed.

“Halt!” cried the uniform-picking guard. He brought his spear out in front, ready to skewer. “You may not pass.”

The other guard jerked awake with a snort and looked sleepily around.

“'Ere, what's all the noise about, Kaelen? Can't a man get some peace for a few minutes; it's been a twelve hour-” He stopped when he saw Mortis before them. “Oh... careful lad, that's the Dune Hunter. You don't want to mess with him.”

Kaelan eyed the intruder with deepening suspicion.

“He is forbidden from entering the palace, Treval. You know that?” He thrust the tip of his spear almost up Mortis’s nose, “What do you want, demon?”

Mortis raised his hands.

“Easy there, I've come to see the Sultan. I mean no harm.” He took the sharpened tip in his hand and pushed it slowly away.

Treval stepped forward.

“Mortis, now look: I got nothing against you, and neither does Kaelen here. Hell, you kept my ancestors from going destitute by wiping out those bandits raiding our caravans, same as you did for everyone else's grandmothers and fathers.” He leaned in, excluding Kaelan but by no means hiding his words.

“But try to understand. If we let you into the palace the Sultan will literally have our heads. We can't afford to do that to our families. It's just not worth it, I'm sorry.”

Mortis was silent, his wings flapping back and forth lazily.

“You're really struggling, aren't you?” he said grimly.

Treval hung his head.

“You'd know better then anyone. Every new Sultan that comes along jacks up the taxes even more. It's a struggle for everyone to survive, not just us guards.”

Mortis closed his eyes and concentrated. Two bags, bulging and heavy, appeared in his hands. It was only a small percentage of the reward Braca had given him, but still a generous amount for the average commoner.

“In exchange for entry into the palace, I offer you both this small token of my good will.” He raised his hand in a flat palmed oath. “And you have my word that I will cause no trouble that could be linked back to you two. I have come to see the Sultan... nothing more.”

The two guards looked at each other, the various consequences that could result from their actions turning over in their heads. Then they slowly reached out to take the gold from Mortis's hands.

“We didn't see nothing, right Kaelen?”

Kaelan was uneasy, but finally nodded in agreement.

“Didn't see a thing.”

*******

Mortis crept down the spiral staircase, senses so alert he would have jumped at a moth’s flight. He could hear everything below: guards armour clinking as they walked, women’s soft, melodious voices. And somewhere in the distance, a deep, belly laugh boomed. He honed in on that laugh as he reached the bottom of the stairs and headed towards it, further into the harem.

The place was considerably larger then he had imagined, and extravagantly decorated. Plush bedrooms filled with the finest silks and softest, down-filled pillows. Hand woven carpets that would have taken years to complete, lying on floors made of polished marble. Mortis gritted his teeth; it was nice to see the people’s taxes going to such charitable causes.

Another roar of laughter, closer now, made him dart into a corridor and then back again, a second before the guard he'd brushed against turned to wonder where that breeze had come from. Mortis held his breath, pressed against the wall, until the man shrugged and started to patrol to the other end. Too close, far too close.

He glanced to his left and right, making sure he wasn't going to be surprised by anyone else, and dashed into the opposing room. This room, small, most likely just a place to walk through or sit, led into a ludicrously large area filled with cushions, hanging incense burners and even a small fountain. At one end, sitting on a bed so soft he practically sank to the floor, was Abdullah Hassani himself.

He was a stocky man, some would even say fat, and his large, twirly moustache gave him an almost comical appearance. He was smiling and clapping as a small group of attractive and lithe women danced for his entertainment in the centre of the floor. On his left sat a young, fit man dressed in fine blue and white robes. Undoubtedly the Sultan’s son, his head rested in one hand, finger covering his mouth. He looked thoroughly bored.

The Sultan, on the other hand, couldn't have been any more excited. He was bouncing and clapping on his bed, so much so that the servant holding his food tray had to step back. For a man of his size and social stature, Mortis found Abdullah's behaviour highly inappropriate.

At last the dance ended, and the girls fell to the floor in a panting heap. The Sultan sat up in his bed and applauded loudly.

“Bravo! Bravo! Magnificent!” He slapped his son on the shoulder so hard the lad squinted. “Don't you think? Applaud them, my boy!”

Jerhyn smiled weakly and clapped. The Sultan saw his troubled look.

“What's the matter, girls not to your liking?”

His son flinched. It was obvious Jerhyn feared his father, even if he respected him at the same time.

“Oh... no, they're fine dancers. It's just...”

“Just what?”

“Just... well, I don't enjoy watching women do this, knowing they've been forced into it.”

The room was quiet now; the tambourines and pipe instruments accompanying the girls dancing were beginning to leave the room with their players. The silence only emphasized the change that came over Abdullah.

“What do you mean by 'forced', boy?”

No longer was he the bumbling, almost childish character Mortis had witnessed only seconds earlier. Now he was something dark, something more powerful and sinister. His whole figure became larger, and Mortis saw how tall the Sultan could make himself. Abdullah towered over his son, glaring so fiercely Jerhyn cringed. The Sultan was a dictator, a ruler, ready to smash the will of all those who opposed him. And it was obvious his son knew this side of his father well.

“Nothing, father!” Jerhyn cried, “they're wonderful. Simply wonderful.”

But the Sultan wasn't ready to let this drop yet.

“Those girls have the blessing of living in the palace. They have food, comfortable beds, clothing fit for queens. Do you think it is not our right, as their providers, protectors, and caretakers, to be indulged with some entertainment every once in awhile? They have everything they could ever need right here; what more could they want?”

“How about to return home?” The look in Jerhyn’s eyes was icy now. Mortis knew that look well; he had experienced it himself many times. The boy was on the edge, and if pushed hard enough there was no telling what he might do.

When his father didn't answer, only turning a darker shade of red, Jerhyn continued:
“How about a chance to know their families? Not to be forced to lie down next to you or any of your infernal guards whenever you desire it?” He was standing now, hands clenched.

'Easy boy,' Mortis thought, 'step back now. Don't do anything you'll regret. That's my job.'

“And the servants,” Jerhyn yelled, “I'm sure they would have liked to know they could father children in the future, know they could have a family and life of their own. But no, I'm sure you are the one who is right. The girls dance for you out of gratitude, and always have.”

His father exploded, Abdullah’s rage so fierce he could only speak through spit and gurgles.

“We own them! They acknowledge that, they dance of their own free will!”

“The same free will that brought them to this place?” Jerhyn’s voice was flat and emotionless. He had said what he wanted to say.

Abdullah finally found his voice.

“Get out! Get out your ingrate; you spawn of your mother’s womb. I'll see you join her in Hell before you sit on my throne. Get out!”

Jerhyn obeyed without another word. The Sultan went about unleashing his fury on every object he could get his hands on; tearing pillows, smashing incense burners, throwing ceramics. Mortis could have watched the temper tantrum all day.

But the prince’s words had reminded him of the reason he'd come down here. He quickly scanned over the Sultan’s servants who sat cowering or standing in the room:

Two slaves, each holding a massive, colourful bird’s feather, fanned over the Sultan’s bed. Their skin was tanned dark brown, almost black, and Mortis recognised them as natives of Kehjistan. They were visibly frightened by Abdullah’s wrath, but dared not stop their work.

The women on the floor huddled together in fear. Mortis could see the beauty hidden beneath their long black hair and emerald eyes. They were so thin and pale, but radiated an energy that was undeniably strong. With shock Mortis realised they were witches from the east; young and therefore most likely unaware of their abilities, but powerful none the less.
Mortis imagined them being snatched from their families under the cover of night, thrown into the moving cages and beaten until they were quiet. It enraged him. It brought him to the edge.

But he controlled it for now. The last servant was the man holding the food tray. A Barbarian, there was no doubt, but not like the ones Mortis had met. His body was lean and face fair, almost feminine. And he had just become the Sultans next target.

“Ignorant fool!” he bellowed, and slapped the tray from his servant’s hand. “He doesn't know how good he has it. I don't know why I waste my time and wealth on him; he's his mother’s son and always will be. And you!” he pointed at the young Barbarian for a long time, enjoying watching him quiver. “Clean up this mess immediately,” he said at last.

“At once, Sultan. My apologies.” As he got down and began to pick up the food, Mortis hung his head. The boy had been broken.

He could hear it in his voice, see it in his features. As Jerhyn had said, the boy had been broken. The fire and aggressiveness that was the characteristic of his heritage was gone, given way to a meek, subservient being. He Mortis boiled.

Abdullah's own rage was burning down now, and he was beginning to run out of things to destroy. As well as breath.

“All of you out,” he huffed, “I have business to prepare for.”

The slaves began to file out of the room, the sadness in their eyes told Mortis they already knew what business the Sultan was going to attend. He had seen what he had come to see; Abdullah had done an impressive job at sealing his own fate. The contract was rightly placed.

Mortis slunk back out into the corridor, now surprisingly empty of guards. It was possible the Sultan was preparing for his meeting with the kidnappers already, and if that was the case he would have to head to the canyon fast. He wanted to fly on ahead and meet the Zoo Keepers for himself, welcome them to the desert the Dune Hunter way -

'Mortis'

He stopped dead in his tracks. Had he really just heard that? He had, but it hadn’t been a spoken word. It seemed to come from within his mind, like the voice of his thoughts. There was some power in that word, as if a being had commanded him. He could feel it now, tugging his will, drawing him back to the room he had just passed.

Cautiously, he crept to the doorway and peered in. It was a weapons room, filled with the most exquisite items the Hassani family had bought - or acquired through other means - during their long rule. In the centre of the room, resting upon a frame of gold, sat a sword. It was forged of long, polished steel, its hilt jewel-encrusted.

It pulsed with power. It lured. It called. Mortis stepped into the room, mesmerised. It was so... perfect. He strode up to it, feeling it whispering to him, but not in words.

He reached for it. He wanted it, desired it with all his soul. All he had to do was take it. He could sneak it past the guards; they would never know. And they wouldn't... be blamed... for its disappearance. Better still, he could vanish it. Then it'd be his forever, locked away in his mind.

But this thought caused confusion. Something was conflicting with the spell the sword was weaving. A memory from long ago. He struggled to think, to focus on either thought and clear his mind.

And then the memory won.

[Project_Xii]

******

“Mort, do you promise?”

“I promise, Teacher. May I be cast back into the depths of Hell if I break it. ”

“Good. Now are you listening.”

“I'm listening.”

Zac leaned in closer.

“You see, Mortis, objects... have a mind of their own.”

Mortis blinked. Then raised an eyebrow.

“Objects think? Right.”

“I'm serious lad! Trust me on this; as a veteran thief, I know what I'm talking about. You said the summon/call spell would make stealing easy? You are wrong. Objects have energy; some would call it a will. It's not like ours, they can't actually think, as you just put it. But they have a sense of ownership, of whom they belong too.”

He rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out his beloved charm. He offered it to Mortis.

“Using the skills you've just learned... well, attempted to learn... try to make this watch vanish. It's been in my possession a long time. See what happens.”

The charm itself was a ring within a ring, dangling from a gold chain. Tapping the centre ring would make it spin wildly in any possible direction, creating a strange tinkling noise as it did so. Now, as Mortis reached out to take it, he hesitated. Some gleam in his Teachers eye, the way the charm swung evenly back and forth. He didn't trust it. In truth, he was almost afraid of what might happen.

“It's alright, you won’t be harmed,” Zac assured him.

Mortis slowly reached out with his hand, brought it back, then reached again. He closed his eyes and concentrated, willing the charm to vanish. Nothing happened. He opened his eyes and looked at Zac. The old man was smiling.

“Try harder”

Mortis obeyed. He focused, concentrated, channelled all his thoughts into making that charm vanish. All at once he sensed a barrier. An invisible wall surrounded the charm, and he got a faint feeling of rejection. Mentally, he could feel the Zac’s treasure dodging him, eluding his spell. He opened his eyes and saw to his surprise that physically it was moving to; swinging in wide arcs away from his reach and towards its owner. He dropped his hand and the charm returned to its normal path, back and forth, from the full length of the chain.

Zac chuckled and put his possession back in his pocket.

“Couldn't do it, could ya?”

Mortis shook his head. He was still trying to shake off that feeling of rejection. It didn't feel good. Zac leaned in to continue his lesson.

“Objects can't think, but they know whom they belong to. If someone unknown tries to vanish them, they will resist. That's why only your own possessions can be vanished so easily. In my mind, it's an important rule. Hell, imagine if everything could be vanished so simply. People would be walking around stealing left right and centre and getting away with it, scott free! We couldn't have that.”

Mortis nodded. It made a lot of sense.

“So how does one make an object his own?”

“Ah, that's a good question, and one I can't rightly answer. It varies from object to object. If you steal a weapon or ring from a man, it will know. It'll resist you, waiting for its owner to return and claim it. As time passes, whatever type of limited will it has, forgets. That's the best way of putting it. It simply forgets its past, and begins to accustom itself with you. Very soon; it's yours. It might take days, perhaps weeks. But eventually you will be able to vanish it as easy as any other possession.”

“Ahh, so the thieving can go on, even if the objects don't like it. Makes you wonder why they don't take revenge sometimes.”

“Oooohhhh Morty, don't be so naive. There are some mighty powerful weapons out there. The older they get, the stronger the 'will' becomes. Some are so strong they'll never be vanished. It's like they know that if they allow it, they may be forgotten and they’ll never see the light of day again. Just as well; the last thing we need is some senile old dolt vanishing the most finely crafted weapons of our time and then taking them to the grave with him. As for revenge...”

He leaned in very close now, to show how deadly serious the topic had become.

“Never -ever- vanish an object that opposes you. Especially weapons, they are the most dangerous. You couldn't vanish the charm because you are still learning the art, but someone of a strong mind and skill could do it. When an object that rejects you is vanished against its will... well, you remember how I said no one knows for sure where they go?”

He tapped his temple.

“We're probably more right in our guessing then we think. The item attacks the mind, the memory, everything. If it's a weapon, it may actually do some physical damage, although no one knows how. More likely the object will just pound against your mind, your subconscious, beating you down bit by bit. Like a childhood bully that constantly calls you worthless, slowly, over time, the object will get you. Men have gone completely insane, even taken tools to their skulls in an attempt to get it out. They have to be pretty far gone by then, of course, to forget how to do the call back spell.”

Zac leaned back, his lesson complete.

“So now you see; thievery is not all quick wits and fast hands. There are more then just angry owners and vengeful guards to reprimand you. You pick up the wrong item” he tapped his head again; “it might just be the end of you.”

Mortis was silent, studying his Teacher with a kind of unwell expression. He stared down at the common items he'd been attempting to vanish. A rock; a sharp, pointy rock. A compass, one of Zac's writing and drawing tools, sporting two needles at the end of each arm. He was beginning to wonder if he wanted this skill at all.

Zac laughed at the concern on his pupils face.

“Never fear boy, an object would have to be pretty nasty to do you any harm. We'll continue the lesson, and by the end you'll be able to pick out a mean one merely by glancing. You see if I'm-”

*******

Right.

Mortis shook his head and glared at the sword. The spell was fully broken now, and all he saw before his eyes was evil. A twisted, bitter will within an ancient blade. He bent down to read the words carved delicately on a plaque attached to the stand.

“Ali Baba Hassani the 7th – His Greatest Find”

He straightened, still staring at the blade with pure detest.

“It's you, isn't it. You're the one weaving your vile will into the generations of this family. Each one that steps up to the throne claims you as his own, and you drive him further down the path of greed for your own enjoyment. You're a parasite. A blight upon man.”

He felt somewhat stupid talking to the sword. If someone had come in they would have believed him mad. But he knew it could hear him, pick up his feelings even if it couldn't understand his words. Its own feelings were in the air. It wasn't rejected, or even angered at losing out to a stronger mind. It was mocking him.

Mortis could feel the laughter. Small children, forming a ring around a loner, pointing their fingers. Laughing. It wasn't a memory, merely an image to emphasize its point. The sword was confident in its place, in its ownership. Mortis sneered and leaned down.

“I could take you, you know. Take you and drop you in the deepest part of the ocean, bury you under a mile of sand. You'd be lost, alone with your own sour will.”

'Do it,' it dared him without words. 'take me as your own. You know I'll win. You still want me; I'll bend you to my cause. We could be powerful -oh- so powerful...'

Mortis was beginning to slip again, reach with his mind. His hand was beginning to rise when a familiar booming voice drifted down the corridor.

“... and bring my sword. You never know with these kidnappers, they can stab you in the back faster then empty your pockets of gold...”

Mortis straightened. The blade intensified its efforts.

'Take me. Use me to kill the Sultan and his besotted bloodline, use me to kill the leaders of the Human Zoo. Take me. We could be-'

“Every bit as corrupt and greed filled as the Sultan himself?” Mortis finished out loud. “You'd like me to do that, wouldn't you? Take you and spill the blood of the whole palace? The town would turn on me for sure, and then we could spill their blood as well. No, my lampreyish friend, you're staying there. The Sultan needs you, and I wouldn't wish to delay his trip by denying him of your presence.”

He began to back out of the room. Even though the spell was broken, he found it hard to tear his eyes away until he was well out in the corridor.

“You want to hope the Sultan decides not to take you on this little business journey. ‘Cause if he does,” he paused long enough to give the sword a lazy eyed smirk, “you won't be having the pleasure of human company again for a long, long time.”

He turned down the corridor and headed silently for the stairs.

[RevenantsKnight]

Hrm...I liked the “talking objects” idea in your last chapter; though it’s not the most original thing ever, as you noted, I’ve always enjoyed the idea of items with minds, especially swords (or computers named after swords...) I did feel, though, that the ending here didn’t have as much strength as it could have had, probably because it felt cut short or something; after all that buildup, it’s just Mortis easily beating down the sword. Somehow, I was expecting a little more to happen. Other than that, though, and some grammar and spelling bits, this was all right. Anyway, here’re some specific comments:

Mortis blinked. Then raised an eyebrow.

Grammatically, this should be “Mortis blinked, then raised an eyebrow,” though I could see a case for this wording. Your call, I guess.

“I'm serious lad!”

There should be a comma after “serious.”

“It's not like ours, they can't actually think, as you just put it.”

The comma after “ours” should be a semicolon, since the parts before and after could each be a complete sentence.

“But they have a sense of ownership, of whom they belong too.”

That should be “of whom they belong to,” if you don’t mind ending a sentence with a preposition. “Too” is usually used to mean “overly.”

He rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out his beloved charm. He offered it to Mortis.

This read a bit jerkily, because the two sentences suggest a break of sorts between the actions, and I don’t think Zac would take out his charm, and then pause for a second before handing it over. I’d combine this into one sentence, to something like “...and, pulling out his beloved charm, offered it to Mortis.”

“Using the skills you've just learned... well, attempted to learn... try to make this watch vanish.”

Erm...“watch”? Doesn’t sound like one to me...and besides, wouldn’t a pocket watch be a little advanced for medieval technology?

Some gleam in his Teachers eye, the way the charm swung evenly back and forth.

That should be “Teacher’s eye,” and this doesn’t seem complete to me, because there’s no main verb; I’d think that this should be something like “...eye, or the way the charm swung evenly back and forth, unnerved him.”

“It's alright, you won’t be harmed,” Zac assured him.

The comma after “alright” should be a semicolon.

“Try harder”

There should be a period at the end, inside the quotes.

He focused, concentrated, channelled all his thoughts into making that charm vanish.

That should be “channeled.”

An invisible wall surrounded the charm, and he got a faint feeling of rejection.

Hrm...the order of these ideas seems a bit odd to me; unless there’s a literal wall there, I’d think that the image would be an elaboration on that “feeling of rejection.” Also, “got” sounds a bit too general to me, and I’d suggest replacing it with something more evocative, such as “His mind met a sensation of rejection, as if there were an invisible wall surrounding the charm.”

Mentally, he could feel the Zac’s treasure dodging him, eluding his spell.

There’s an extraneous “the” before “Zac’s.”

He opened his eyes and saw to his surprise that physically it was moving to; swinging in wide arcs away from his reach and towards its owner.

That should be “...moving too, swinging in...”

He dropped his hand and the charm returned to its normal path, back and forth, from the full length of the chain.

The last bit here was a little unclear; I’d word it as “...swinging back and forth along the full length of the chain.”

“Objects can't think, but they know whom they belong to. If someone unknown tries to vanish them, they will resist.”

Hrm...interesting concept, that. I’m looking forward to whatever you have in mind for this...

“People would be walking around stealing left right and centre and getting away with it, scott free!”

There should be a comma after “around,” and in this context, I think that should be “scot.”

“As time passes, whatever type of limited will it has, forgets.”

I’d word this as “...limited will it has begins to forget.”

“It simply forgets its past, and begins to accustom itself with you.”

“Accustom itself with you” should have “to” instead of “with.” Also, I’d replace this use of “forgets,” since there’s another one in the preceding sentence, with something else, perhaps “loses touch with its past.”

“Very soon; it's yours.”

The semicolon here should be a comma.

“But eventually you will be able to vanish it as easy as any other possession.”

That should be “...as easily as any other possession.”

“Some are so strong they'll never be vanished. It's like they know that if they allow it, they may be forgotten and they’ll never see the light of day again.”

Ah yes...eccentric, ornery and at times violent objects. So much fun...

“Especially weapons, they are the most dangerous.”

That should be worded as “...weapons, because they are...”

“Like a childhood bully that constantly calls you worthless, slowly, over time, the object will get you.”

Hrm...would this simile mean anything to Mortis, given his background?

“You pick up the wrong item” he tapped his head again; “it might just be the end of you.”

I’d replace the semicolon after “again” with a comma, and add “and” to the start of the second spoken bit. Also, there should be a comma after “item,” inside the quotes.

A compass, one of Zac's writing and drawing tools, sporting two needles at the end of each arm.

Maybe it’s just me, but all the drawing compasses I’ve seen have a point on one end and a pencil tip or something like that on the other, not two points per arm.

Zac laughed at the concern on his pupils face.

That should be “pupil’s.”

He straightened, still staring at the blade with pure detest.

“Detest” can’t be used as a noun. The proper form is “detestation,” but that sounds a bit long here...“disgust,” maybe?

“Each one that steps up to the throne claims you as his own, and you drive him further down the path of greed for your own enjoyment.”

That should be “Each one who...”

If someone had come in they would have believed him mad.

There should be a comma after “in.”

Its own feelings were in the air.

I’d try to describe this in a bit more detail, personally. This is more or less the high point of this chapter, considering what you’ve been building up, so the more vivid and engaging you can make it, the better.

It wasn't rejected, or even angered at losing out to a stronger mind.

Technically, it was “rejected”; did you mean “dejected,” perhaps?

It wasn't a memory, merely an image to emphasize its point.

The second half of this sentence sounds a bit redundant; it can’t be a memory since Mortis isn’t human. I’d replace it with what it felt like to Mortis; maybe it feels like a dream, in that it’s somehow familiar, and yet also unreal.

Mortis was beginning to slip again, reach with his mind.

I’d spend more time on building up a back-and-forth between Mortis and the sword; after all, that’s what the rest of this chapter seemed to be setting up. As it is, it felt over too soon.

“You never know with these kidnappers, they can stab you in the back faster then empty your pockets of gold...”

The comma after “kidnappers” should be a semicolon.

The blade intensified its efforts.

Again, I’d try to describe this in more detail. If this is its last big push, it’d probably be a good idea to make Mortis feel that, and pass that on to the reader as well.

“Every bit as corrupt and greed filled as the Sultan himself?” Mortis finished out loud.

I’d change “greed filled” to just “greedy”; it sounds a bit stronger to me.

Anyway, I like the ideas you’re bringing into play here, and I think they should make for some interesting further chapters. With some more cleaning and a renewed focus on the end, this should be a strong introduction for those concepts. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Whoa. Long long long time no post. thanks so much for the review Revenants Knight, i hope you're still existant on the forum and haven't run off to pursue some profitable life or something :P
Anyway I'm back now, and the updates will be consistant again.

*********

Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Five horses, pounding across the desert. Rise and fall. Under the cover of night they rode; the Sultan in the middle, four stony faced and silent guards surrounding him.

Abdullah Hassani rode with a grace expected from someone of majesty. Someone who’d been trained by professionals at an early age, someone who could afford luxuries like that as well as a horse birthed from the purest of thoroughbreds. He didn’t even need to think about moving in time with his steed, his subconscious did it all for him.

Which was good, because his mind was elsewhere.

Blasted spoilt insolent child. Contemptuous seed of his mother’s womb. Ever since Jerhyn had reached the age when he was legally allowed to assume royal duties – commanding guards, slaves, and influencing his decisions on the city – he’d been nothing but trouble.
Help the homeless? Provide loans for struggling business owners, straight from the palace reserves?!

Hassani was mad. Furious. Where did his son think money came from? Thin air? The boy hadn’t done a days labour in his whole life; he didn’t know the meaning of real work.
The fact that the Sultan had led an equally leisure filled life never crossed his mind. He was seething, all thoughts on his son. Plotting, thinking, churning.

He blamed most of the boy’s insolence on his mother. She had been a beautiful harem girl; young, free willed, and had a passion for people. It was what drew Abdullah to her. But he let himself be woed by her charms, and didn’t realise the effect having a women like this for his Queen would have on his own rule.

She too wanted to use the taxes to help the community. No matter how hard he tried to explain, it never seemed to get through that they were not obligated to do so. The people paid their taxes for the mere privilege of living in the city - if it wasn’t for his family they’d be fending for themselves out on the dunes.

But she did it anyway, trafficking money right under his nose. When he discovered the reserves had been dwindling, he immediately suspected it, but instead opted to remain silent. He arranged for his young bride to visit her family, far off in Khanduras.

He smiled silently to himself in the moonlight as they cantered over the sands. Sabre Cats were dangerous adversaries, but even they could be persuaded to put aside old grudges if the price was right. No one would ever find his wife’s caravan, that he was sure.

The cliffs of the canyon were drawing near, and he knew the Desert Oasis and Human Zoo lay beyond. Tonight he would be careful about the choosing of his slaves; the last ones were weak and far too obedient. Half the pleasure of having slaves was the chore of breaking them. To Hell with the whines of his son, the Zoo came too seldom to pass up such opportunities.

He patted the sword hanging at his belt. Though they supplied him with workers, and gratefully took the gold that he offered, the Keepers of the Zoo’s were not to be trusted. He always took guards, and never went unarmed. Rarely did he take out his family sword, however. It swung loosely on his leg, hilt rising enough with the movement of the horse to reveal the glint of blade inside its sheath.

It was ancient, found on the battlefield of a war long forgotten. Passed down in his family for generations by the great Ali Baba Hassani. And tonight, for some strange reason, he’d felt compelled to take it with him. It felt wrong at first; surely the sight of such a unique weapon would only make the Zoo Keepers even more dangerous. But then he knew that nothing could stand against him while he held that sword. He was a Sultan after all, blessed with the innate ability to fight with skills far beyond the common ruffian. If they attacked him, they would fall by his blade, and that was all.

Darkness passed over him as they entered the canyon. The black, jagged rocks protruding from the walls yearned for the taste of horse-flesh, but the guards knew better. They’d ridden this pass many times, and even in darkness they could navigate more then safely. Stars shone through the long, thin gap high above. Hassani scanned the cliff edges, beginning to feel at peace, the rage towards his son subsiding.

Something caught his eye. A silhouette, briefly back dropped by stars, leaning down the canyon towards them. Then it was gone.

A surge of fear passed through him, but it didn’t feel like his own. It came from elsewhere, an outside influence. The sword swung lazily by his leg. The fear lessened, but still remained.

The horse’s steps faltered, slowing from a constant gallop to an uneasy trot. The guards grunted with confusion as they fought with the reigns and spurred into their steed’s flanks. Hassani’s own horse snorted defiantly, aware of the same presence scaring the others but determined not to back down.

A guard cried out as his horse reared high, braying and champing at the bit. It reared again, grappling with invisible hands, and the guard began to fall. But he never hit the ground. A sound like swooping bats echoed down the canyon, and with a rush of wind the guard was snatched out of the air and carried high. Hassani gasped, while the others began to panic.

They watched the two forms; one the flailing guard, the other a huge, winged creature, flying high above the cliffs. Then the guard was released and he fell screaming onto the cliff’s edge and out of sight.

Abdullah barked some orders and his three remaining men dismounted or tumbled off their steeds. The horses brayed gratefully for their new found freedom, and fled away into the darkness. The guards raised their spears and surrounded the dark stallion upon which their Sultan sat. All was silent.

The winged beast had disappeared as quickly as it came, but the guards remained focused on the sky.

(“What is it?”)

(“Where’s it gone?”)

(“I can’t see… it could be anywhere!)

The whispers were urgent, wavering with concern. Abdullah could see their nervous movements as they scanned the stars. One of them stepped forward suddenly, his voice rising.

“It is a demon. It knows what we’ve done; what we’ve been doing. It is retribution on wings!”

“Hold your tongue, soldier” Hassani growled. “It is within our rights –“

“Tell that to the beast!” the guard cried, dropping his spear and pointing to the sky. “He’s come to punish us. There will be no mer –“

A shadow on the cliff lashed out, hooking its fingers under the man’s jaw. The other guards yelled and hurled their spears as their companion’s body was lifted off its feet, but both projectiles hit only stone. The unfortunate victim kicked and gurgled as he was hauled up the cliff, before his jaw snapped apart and he fell. The Sultan allowed himself a sickened groan as the body tumbled back down and hit the sand, spewing vomit and blood in an unstoppable gush.

“The devil is upon us!” cried a remaining guard, and fled the way of the horses. On the sand, the jawless man was trying in vain to crawl after him, but soon collapsed again. His dead eyes glinted dimly in the starlight, appearing to stare straight at the Sultan. Abdullah shifted in his saddle and turned to the last of his men.

“Defend your Sultan. Defend your honour. Die well: your family will be rewarded.”
With that he spurred his stallion and galloped down the dark canyon path. The Zoo Keepers would help him. He’d make them pay if they didn’t.

*

Karhal turned in a slow circle and studied the cliffs. Every ridge or stony abnormality seemed to pose a threat. He’d picked up his spear again and now held it out before him, its sharp tip glowing in the darkness.

He was a big man, and a rigorous training routine ensured he was in peak physical condition. His skill with a spear was almost unmatched among the ranks of the Sultans guards. But the thing he was fighting wasn’t a man, and it was a lot more agile then him. His only hope was that his keen eyes would detect its movement before it crept up on him.

In the distance, far down the path from whence they’d come, a scream echoed and then was cut short. Karhal grinned silently to himself. At least the cowardly worm had got his just deserves. He’d never liked men who ran from a fight.

Silence once more. He was the last, the only, the bait for the thing in the shadows. He sneered in the dark, baring his teeth.

“Show yourself, creature. Fight me, man to beast. Let me die the glorious, battle-filled death I desire.”

When no reply came, he turned around fast, still scanning the cliffs.

“Creature? Creature! I’m warning y -”

-THUMP-

Something very large landed heavily a few feet away from him, sending up a cloud of sand. It squatted, wings folded protectively around its head until the cloud had settled. Then it slowly stood up.

Karhal gaped.
“Dune Hunter…? I thought it might have been, but then I thought even you wouldn’t be crazy enough to assault the Sultan directly.”

“Karhal. Good to see you again, but I would have preferred it under different circumstances.”

The big man jammed his spear forcefully into the sand and leaned on it.
“Indeed. So: you going to kill me now?”

“That would depend. You follow and serve the Sultan. Do you believe what he does is right?”

“What? You mean getting his slaves from the Human Zoo? He’s scum. My own nephew was captured and sold by that wretched business, and if I could I’d kill every last one of them. Alas, it’s kinda hard to do that and keep a low profile in a small city like Lut Gholein. No, I hate the Sultan for collaborating with those bastards, but I really have no other choice. Protect him or starve. It’s an unfortunate fact.”

The Dune Hunter strode over to him, his long shadow and sizeable wings almost filling the path. His golden eyes shone; the only visible part of his face. But soft chuckling told Karhal that his approach was not hostile.

“Good” Mortis said, “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He took the spear carefully from the human’s hands and snapped its tip from the sturdy pole. “Go home now, Karhal. That’s a better reward for your family then anything the Sultan could have offered.”

Karhal stared at the demons glowing eyes for a minute, then took a step back.
“Make his death swift, Dune Hunter” he said, bowing his head. “And if you can, kill a few of the Zoo Keepers while you’re at it.”

They both turned at the same time, and headed opposite ways down the canyon path.

“Don’t worry” Mortis’s voice echoed down towards Karhal, “They’ve already been taken care of.”

*

The horse’s breath came out in short, moisture-filled snorts. White foam frothed from its mouth, coming off in chunks and leaving a white flecked trail along the path they’d come. The Sultan rode atop his steed with a desperate determination, not daring to look behind. The canyon would end shortly, and then he would be safe.

As if in answer to his thoughts, he burst forth into bright moonlight, leaving the jagged cliffs at last. The desert opened up before him, a glistening silver sea rolling on forever. Palm trees marked the location of the Desert Oasis, not far ahead, and in front of them sat the large barred carriages of the Human Zoo. Abdullah relaxed at last, feeling the tension seep gratefully from his muscles.

But as he drew closer, he could tell something wasn’t right here either. Nothing was stirring around the cages. Usually it was hive of activity. Nor were there any wails from the distressed and angry slaves.

He pulled the horse to a jarring halt when he saw the figures lying on the sand, dark puddles leaking out from them. The bars on the cages had been wrenched apart brutally and the slaves set free. He already knew it was too late. Every keeper had been slaughtered, either by the creature or by the slaves themselves once it had freed them. He dismounted and cautiously went to investigate.

The keepers had been bludgeoned or clawed, some tossed into carriages or high into the air so they’d landed at strange angles. All the horses had been taken, and hoof prints led off in the various directions of the homelands those who rode them had been stolen from. He snarled, angry at the fact that he’d lost so many men and slaves in such a short space of time. The creature would pay; he’d make sure of it. The rage was building, fuelled from somewhere within.

Kill the creature. Then hunt down every one of those fleeing slaves and kill them too. Hell, while he was at it he should probably go back to the palace and chop up his insolent son, just to prove his point. No one was going to stand against him. Man or beast, they would fall.

And then he heard it. The sound, ever so softly, like bats gliding on the breeze. It was coming closer, from behind him, and fast. Time slowed. The sound of his own heart thudded in his ears. Breathing seemed oddly loud. His hand was drawn inexplicably towards his side, where it found the hilt of his sword. It was pulsing too, in time with his heart.

The sound came closer. Not yet. Closer. Wait until it is upon us. So close. …Us? The time was now. NOW!

Hassani drew the sword and spun, slashing with all the strength he had. The blade struck something hard, digging deep, and then it sliced through and was free again. There was a cry and a large shape hurtled over him, smashing into the remains of the Zoo cages beyond. Dark droplets sprayed into the air and dripped from his sword. Abdullah felt a grim pleasure sweep over him.

“Hah! So you dare attack a Sultan from behind? How does my blade feel to you, creature? Does its bite burn as bad as the defeat you just faced?”

He wiped the sword with his fingers and flicked them to the sand. Then he advanced on the wreckage his attacker had barrelled into. It was at his mercy now. Man or beast, they would fall before the Sultan of Lut Gholein.

[RevenantsKnight]

Well, it’s been a while, but I think I remember most of what happened, since this made pretty good sense to me in terms of the plot. It’s definitely headed in an interesting direction, and though I’m pretty sure I can figure out what’s going to go down in the end, the how of that is something that I suspect might be rather entertaining. The action itself, though, felt a bit, well, lacking in urgency, which may or may not be what you had in mind; it reads as if Mortis is just playing with the Sultan and his guards, which seems likely, though it also doesn’t really grip the reader very strongly because it never really builds up. Also, Karhal’s position with regard to this whole matter felt perhaps too perfect; honestly, the chances of him knowing Mortis somewhat well, being an excellent fighter and getting a relative taken as a slave all in one life don’t seem particularly high, especially since the first two would discourage the third. Some specific comments:

Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Five horses, pounding across the desert. Rise and fall.

Maybe I’m just being thick, but why use “Rise and fall” three times here? It’s not really clear to what they relate, though I can guess that you were meaning them to describe either the horses or their riders. Either way, it seems a bit unnecessary to mention it three times, given this ambiguity.

Under the cover of night they rode; the Sultan in the middle, four stony faced and silent guards surrounding him.

I’d word this as “...rode, with the Sultan...,” because the segment after the semicolon doesn’t seem like a complete sentence on its own. Also, that should be “stony-faced.”

He didn’t even need to think about moving in time with his steed, his subconscious did it all for him.

“Subconscious” felt too technical to me; it’s not really a concept that should be in their language at this time, so I’d express this in a longer and more descriptive manner, such as “...steed; it was natural as breathing to him.” Additionally, I’d suggest writing out contractions, because the short form is usually typical of conversational English, not narration. For example, “didn’t” should become “did not.”

Blasted spoilt insolent child.

That should be “spoiled,” I think.

Ever since Jerhyn had reached the age when he was legally allowed to assume royal duties – commanding guards, slaves, and influencing his decisions on the city – he’d been nothing but trouble.
Help the homeless?

That should be “...the age where...,” and the “his decisions” reads as if you mean Jerhyn’s decisions, which seems wrong. As mentioned above, I’d suggest also that you avoid contractions, such as “he’d,” in narration. Finally, I think you need a line break in between sentences here.

Provide loans for struggling business owners, straight from the palace reserves?!

Er...that wasn’t a common practice for lords in medieval or Renaissance times, I don’t think (though I could very well be wrong.) This might be too modern a solution for the setting.

The boy hadn’t done a days labour in his whole life; he didn’t know the meaning of real work.
The fact that the Sultan had led an equally leisure filled life never crossed his mind.

That should be “day’s.” Also, there should be a line break between these sentences.

She had been a beautiful harem girl; young, free willed, and had a passion for people.

I’d change the semicolon to a colon here and reword the end as “...free willed, with a passion...” because as it is now, the second part isn’t a complete sentence, so this isn’t correct.

It was what drew Abdullah to her.

I’m not entirely sure about this, but since this all happened in the past relative to this moment in the story, which is told in the past tense, it seems like this sentence, and the rest of the narration down to where it returns to the current moment, should be in the past perfect (so this should read as “It was what had drawn Abdullah to her.”) It does read OK, if a little dryly, as it is, though.

But he let himself be woed by her charms, and didn’t realise the effect having a women like this for his Queen would have on his own rule.

That should be “wooed” and “...a woman like her...” Also, while I get that she isn’t the focus of this chapter, it couldn’t hurt to describe her a little bit more, since then it not only makes her more human and him more despicable, but also gives this part a bit more weight. As it is, it feels like a rather factual and cold reporting of some backstory, and is hard to get into.

No one would ever find his wife’s caravan, that he was sure.

That should be “...caravan; of that, he was sure.”

The cliffs of the canyon were drawing near, and he knew the Desert Oasis and Human Zoo lay beyond.

I wouldn’t capitalize “Desert Oasis” here, because then it makes it seem as if there’s only one desert oasis, or that this one is special in some way, “the” desert oasis, if you catch my meaning. Even if that is what you meant, it seems like a bad place to do some shady dealing.

Half the pleasure of having slaves was the chore of breaking them.

“Chore” sounded wrong to me, given the context of the sentence. I’d use maybe “task” or “job.”

To Hell with the whines of his son, the Zoo came too seldom to pass up such opportunities.

The comma after “son” should be a semicolon, and “too seldom” seemed wrong here...perhaps “too rarely” would work, though maybe what you have would too.

Though they supplied him with workers, and gratefully took the gold that he offered, the Keepers of the Zoo’s were not to be trusted.

That should be “Zoo.” There’s only one Zoo, so “Keepers” is enough, and as far as I know, apostrophe-s never indicates plurality.

It swung loosely on his leg, hilt rising enough with the movement of the horse to reveal the glint of blade inside its sheath.

I think that should be “the glint of the blade.”

Passed down in his family for generations by the great Ali Baba Hassani.

Hrm...now how could this one person pass the blade down over generations?

He was a Sultan after all, blessed with the innate ability to fight with skills far beyond the common ruffian.

That should be “...skills far beyond those of the common ruffian,” because as it is, it compares skills to a person, which doesn’t seem right.

The black, jagged rocks protruding from the walls yearned for the taste of horse-flesh, but the guards knew better.

Nicely phrased here.

They’d ridden this pass many times, and even in darkness they could navigate more then safely.

That should be “...more than safely.” “Than” with an “a” is used for comparisons.

A silhouette, briefly back dropped by stars, leaning down the canyon towards them.

“To backdrop” technically isn’t a verb, so I’d suggest rewording this so that it sticks to “defined” words, such as “Against the backdrop of stars, a silhouette leaned down for a moment...” If you do keep it, though, it should be one word.

A surge of fear passed through him, but it didn’t feel like his own.

Hrm...curious; you’ve got my attention with this. It’d be stronger, though, if you followed up a little bit on the unusual nature of the situation and described what he felt and why it “didn’t feel like his own”; as it is, it felt like you were starting into something that could be pretty interesting and then backed out.

It came from elsewhere, an outside influence.

This seems a bit redundant, as well as obvious given the context. I’d drop it entirely, but that’s just me.

The horse’s steps faltered, slowing from a constant gallop to an uneasy trot.

That should be “horses’,” if there’s more than one horse.

The guards grunted with confusion as they fought with the reigns and spurred into their steed’s flanks.

That should be “steeds’,” similar to the above comment.

It reared again, grappling with invisible hands, and the guard began to fall.

A bit of confusion on a first read: it never stopped rearing the first time, so seeing “again” felt as if you’d skipped some frames in a movie. It’s a rather minor quibble, though.

They watched the two forms; one the flailing guard, the other a huge, winged creature, flying high above the cliffs. Then the guard was released and he fell screaming onto the cliff’s edge and out of sight.

Hrm...for something that should be action, this really didn’t do much in terms of holding me in. I think a lot of that has to do with the neutral feel of this and the passive voice; both of those don’t exactly contribute to a sense of action and urgency. For example, there’s no sense of what the Sultan and his guards felt as they watch in the first sentence; while the reader can draw some likely conclusions from the context, he or she probably won’t feel the same gut reaction as if the scene were playing itself out right there. While there are a number of techniques to do this, they all more or less require more detail, be it on what’s happening, on what’s going through the characters’ heads, or whatever.

The horses brayed gratefully for their new found freedom, and fled away into the darkness.

“Newfound” is one word.

“Hold your tongue, soldier” Hassani growled.

There should be a comma after “soldier,” inside the quotes.

The other guards yelled and hurled their spears as their companion’s body was lifted off its feet, but both projectiles hit only stone. The unfortunate victim kicked and gurgled as he was hauled up the cliff, before his jaw snapped apart and he fell. The Sultan allowed himself a sickened groan as the body tumbled back down and hit the sand, spewing vomit and blood in an unstoppable gush.

The repeated sentence structure here made this feel like a list to me. I’d suggest varying this up a bit, because the monotonous feel does prevent the action from really coming through. Let me know if you want specific suggestions.

Abdullah shifted in his saddle and turned to the last of his men.

“Last of his men” seemed to imply more than one to me, and there’s only Karhal left by my count. I’d just say “last guard” or something.

Every ridge or stony abnormality seemed to pose a threat.

Again, this felt a bit too factual for a tense scene.

He’d picked up his spear again and now held it out before him, its sharp tip glowing in the darkness.

I’d write out the contraction here, and “glowing” doesn’t follow logically from “sharp.” Unless you were hinting that his weapon was enchanted or something, I don’t think “glowing” would work, because it suggests that the tip is a light source. Even if that was what you meant, I’d try to find a less confusing way to say it.

In the distance, far down the path from whence they’d come, a scream echoed and then was cut short.

I’d write out “they’d” as “they had.”

At least the cowardly worm had got his just deserves.

That should be “just desserts.”

Karhal gaped.
“Dune Hunter…?”

The big man jammed his spear forcefully into the sand and leaned on it.
“Indeed. So: you going to kill me now?”

I’d get rid of the returns at the end of the first sentence in each pair, and either put each one on a single line or put a full line between them.

His golden eyes shone; the only visible part of his face.

I’d reword this to something like “His golden eyes, all Karhal could see of his face, shone in the darkness,” because as it is, the semicolon doesn’t work.

“Good” Mortis said, “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

There should be a comma after “Good,” inside the quotes, and the comma after “said” should be a period.

“That’s a better reward for your family then anything the Sultan could have offered.”

That should be “...than anything the Sultan...”

Karhal stared at the demons glowing eyes for a minute, then took a step back.
“Make his death swift, Dune Hunter” he said, bowing his head.

I’d get rid of the single return between these two sentences, and “demons” should be “demon’s.”

“Don’t worry” Mortis’s voice echoed down towards Karhal, “They’ve already been taken care of.”

There should be a comma after “worry,” inside the quotes, and the comma after “Karhal” should be a period.

The desert opened up before him, a glistening silver sea rolling on forever.

“Silver” threw me, because the desert sand in the game is yellowish, and something yellowish usually doesn’t turn silver in darkness.

Abdullah relaxed at last, feeling the tension seep gratefully from his muscles.

Grammatically, “gratefully” here modifies how the tension left him, and it seemed rather odd to personify that tension. I wasn’t sure if you were trying to say that Abdullah felt grateful (which in itself sounds a little off) so I’d recommend rewording this entirely.

He already knew it was too late.

Seems like this should come before you really start into the scene around him...maybe that’s just me, though.

The keepers had been bludgeoned or clawed, some tossed into carriages or high into the air so they’d landed at strange angles.

I’d write this out as “they had,” not “they’d.”

All the horses had been taken, and hoof prints led off in the various directions of the homelands those who rode them had been stolen from.

The end of this sentence doesn’t read very well; while I get what you meant by it, this felt too wordy, as well as grammatically convoluted. I’d word this as something like “...homelands of the newly freed slaves” for simplicity’s sake, and assume that the reader can pick up on everything from that and the context.

Hell, while he was at it he should probably go back to the palace and chop up his insolent son, just to prove his point.

The tone of this sentence sounded very out of place with the rest of the story; I get that the sword’s beginning to increase its influence over him, but this seemed too far from both the fact-heavy narration and the Sultan’s more controlled thoughts from before.

The sound, ever so softly, like bats gliding on the breeze.

Since “softly” modifies a noun in this case (the sound,) it should be in adjective form, or “soft.”

Breathing seemed oddly loud.

This felt out of place with the rest of the paragraph, which in general is a pretty good setup for the battle, because this is vague and passive. For me, “seemed” doesn’t really create an image in the same way “His heart pounded in his ears” does, so I’d suggest trying to work up a more evocative description here.

His hand was drawn inexplicably towards his side, where it found the hilt of his sword.

Hrm...it didn’t seem that inexplicable to me, considering as he knows what’s happening and the sword is the best weapon he has.

The blade struck something hard, digging deep, and then it sliced through and was free again.

I’d remove the use of the passive voice (“was free again”); it’s generally not conducive to a faster-paced, tense action scene.

“Does its bite burn as bad as the defeat you just faced?”

That should be “...as badly...” since it modifies “burns,” which is a verb.

It was at his mercy now. Man or beast, they would fall before the Sultan of Lut Gholein.

That should be “Man or beast, it would fall...” to be parallel with the first sentence and its use of “it.”

Overall, this felt a bit too distant for my tastes, in that the action reads much more like a retelling than as if the scene was actually happening right in front of me. Whether or not such a change would be better or not is certainly a stylistic and subjective call, but I would argue that it’d have more of an effect on the reader that way. Sorry for not posting this sooner (unfortunately, this may be typical for the next few months or so.) Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Once again my many thanks. You're reviews are as helpful and enlightening as always, and my skills will only improve with your guidance.
Course, there are some things that i wish to keep the way they are, simply cause that's how i myself lik to see them written that way. But you never actually say "it has to be done like this" which is also good

However, if you don't like the 'rushed' feel of some parts, you probably won't like the last part of Contract 2. But we'll see

*******

*

Mortis groaned and pulled a large splinter from his side. Only seconds before he’d been bearing down on Hassani, ready to fulfil the contract. Then the man had spun so fast and so late that it was impossible for Mortis to dodge that cursed blade. He touched the deep gouge in his chest and grimaced. It wasn’t serious, but it hurt like Hell.

Not far off, the Sultan was shouting incoherent things like a loon, his brief success probably exhilarating him. Mortis would put an end to that fast enough, as soon as he could pick his way out of the wreckage. He groaned again as he tossed a heavy metal bar off his legs and removed some wood pinning his wings. The Sultan was walking towards him now, swinging that sword wildly and screaming.

“Flee creature, flee! Crawl back to the cesspit you came from. Run from Hassani!” There was a madness in is eyes that wasn’t human. Mortis knew the sword was in control now.

He heaved himself up painfully and leapt from the wreckage onto the roof of one of the intact cages. There he knelt, breathing hard and slowing the flow of blood from his wound. The Sultan reached the cages base and screamed up at him.

“Come down, vile beast! Fight me!”

Mortis glared at him through narrowed eyes.
“I would, but I would not be fighting you.”

“Devil talk. Your words mean nothing to me!”

“Feel the rage, Hassani. Is that really your own? Do you really believe that you could take on a Balrog and live?”

“I would take on the Lords of Hell if I could! I am the Sultan. All will fear me!”

Mortis sighed and leaned down towards him.
“If that’s what you wish, then –“

“It is! FIGHT ME!”

Abdullah swung the sword and smashed the base of the cage in half. It collapsed in on itself, almost taking Mortis with it. Instead he jumped off and glided to the side, where he hit the sand and came up in a defensives stance.

The Sultan gave an angry scream and charged towards him, slashing and hacking. Mortis easily dodged the first blows, swatting the sword away each time it rang close. He lashed out with a well aimed kick and took the feet out from under the crazed man.

Hassani hit the sand and rolled, leaping back up again in an instant. Mortis was impressed.
“Not bad for a fat man.”

The Sultan growled loudly and came for another charge, and Mortis parried and ducked, toying with him. The man was tiring, the sword was heavy, and soon he could end this contract with ease.

“Give up, Hassani. Give up and you’ll die faster. You’re only prolonging things.”

“Shut up devil, silence your cursed words. Die by my blade and be grateful you had the honour!”

He swung in a wide arc, and Mortis caught his arm at the elbow. They wrestled unmoving for a second, each trying to overpower the other, until Mortis began to squeeze.

“Unhand me, beast! Unhan- aah.. ARHH!”

With a loud crack the Sultans elbow splintered and his arm went limp. Mortis released him and watched as he stumbled back, dropping the sword to the sand and holding his useless hand.

“You… you monster… you vile, wretched…” something changed in his features, and he blinked, as if he was seeing things clearly. He glanced around him at the remains of the Zoo, then at the great winged demon before him. Real fear filled his eyes.

“Wh-what… y-you… by the gods!” The Sultan turned to flee, but Mortis was on him in an instant. He drove a light punch into the mans stomach to quell his movements, then held him up straight.

“So, now you see, Hassani. Now you see what before was clouded.”

The Sultan merely stared at him, struggling to recover from his winding. Mortis drew his face in close.

“The sword. Its will is stronger then yours; it’s stronger then any of your past blood. Your families decay and corruption amuses it, and I believe you’ve been a fantastic puppet so far.” He pointed to the blade lying innocently on the sand. “It’s had you, Hassani, fuelling your emotions and driving your greed.”

The Sultan regained his voice.
“Yes... yes! It was the sword! Oh gods, I see now. Please, take it away from me. That cursed sword has destroyed my family. Take it away!”

Mortis smiled and his grip on the man’s shoulder tightened.
“That might be so. But the sword does not drive one to buy from the Human Zoo. That was you, and your own loathsome desires. You aren’t fit to rule, and from what I’ve seen, your son is a far better man anyway.”

“The boy? You’re mad! He’s weak, useless -”

“He cares about the people, which is what a Sultan should do. Not use the taxes to furnish his own selfish wants. You will not be missed, Hassani.”

The man gulped, then glared defiantly into his assailants eyes.
“You are the Dune Hunter. Though I’ve never seen you, I recognise you from the stories. You won’t get away with it” he hissed, “People will suspect you. You’ll never be welcome in our city again.”

Mortis brought his face close to the Sultans ear.
”Oh, I think they’ll understand. Especially when they find your corpse beside those of the Human Zoo. And one final thing Hassani” his voice became low and sinister, “I’ve been to Hell. You’re wife isn’t waiting for you there.”

He punched his hand deep into the human’s stomach and kept on pushing. The Sultans eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Mortis took hold of the vitals inside and yanked, pulling his arm and a fair amount of internal organs out with it.

The Sultans staggered, staring in horror at his own insides, before desperately trying to push them back in with his one good hand.
“Won’t… get… away…” he gasped, falling to his knees. “Will…… pay.”

With a heavy thud he fell to the sand, face buried deep. Mortis stepped on his head to drive it in further.
“Yes, paid a lot in fact.” He stooped to pull an emblem off the Sultans turban as proof. “Money well earned, I believe.”

Moonlight trickled down, the stars twinkled excitedly. A slain ruler lay among the corpses of evil men, where he belonged. The contract was fulfilled, but the task not fully complete. The demon had one final job to do, as he faced the sword for the last time. He wasn’t going to lose.

“I mentioned that if the Sultan brought you, it’d be the last human company you’d see for a long time.” Mortis knelt down beside the blade and whispered. “I feel you’re fear. You know your fate.”

‘You can’t destroy me. Nobody can. You don’t want to. You aren’t strong enough.’

“I don’t need to destroy you,” Mortis spoke, “just hide you somewhere humans will never find you again.” Using a piece of cloth, he scooped up the sword and cradled it, making sure not to touch the cold steel.

“And I know just the place.”

*

The gaping hole in the sand yawned at them, a perfectly formed burrow heading down for an unknown length of space. Mortis stood at its entrance and smiled.

“I’m sure you’ll find ways to entertain yourself. The minds of Sand Maggotts are easily broken.”

‘You can’t throw me down there. You won’t. You can’t. You won’t. You can’t. You-‘

“I can, and I will.”

‘Can’t. WON’T. CAN’T. WON’T!’

The force was unbearable, so desperate was the blade to escape its fate it was trying to break Mortis mind apart more then persuade him. He could feel it beating and tearing for all it was worth. He shook his head, trying to clear its influence.

“Can…. and will…”

‘YOU ARE MINE’

“To Hell with you, sword.”

He bundled it up in the cloth and hurled it, a perfect throw down the angle of the tunnel. He listened to it whizzing and skimming, grinding sand from the walls as it slid further down into the Maggott’s darkest lairs. When he could at last hear no more, he was satisfied.

He sighed and dusted the dust from his hands. The wound on the side of his chest stung, but it was healing. He was feeling that strange fulfilment that always occurred after a successful job, as well as the adrenalin slowly seeping away.

Hassani would be found; that he was sure of. But lying next to the ruins of a business as abominable as the Human Zoo would destroy any creditability he had left. Even if the town did suspect Mortis, they would only assume he had a contract on the Zoo and the Sultan had got in the way. Besides, he liked the idea of leaving the man’s corpse to become bloated in the sun, and for the vultures to feast on his remains. It seemed somehow fitting.

His final words he had been quite proud of as well, though in truth he had no idea if the Sultan’s wife had avoided the eternal torments of Hell. It wasn’t like he’d been back to check since he left so long ago. That didn’t matter of course, it was the grim satisfaction that came from the Sultans final expression that made the sentiment worthwhile.

Mortis checked to make sure the Sultans emblem sat tightly in his pocket, and took to the air. It would be a nice, leisurely flight back to Lut Gholein, and then he could sit and have a drink with Atma and her husband. Perhaps even have a game with Elzix, though he knew the old rogue would cheat. Braca would meet him on the boat, and tomorrow they would travel to –

“FOOL! Ignorant, useless fool! What have you done?? You’ve spoilt EVERYthing.”

Mortis came to an abrupt halt mid-air, hovering and looking around urgently. The voice had been within his mind, and for a second he thought the sword may have been calling him from beyond its grave. But this was far different. This was an actual voice, not one he believed he heard. This was a person, contacting him through means similar to the way the Hell Lords controlled their minions.

“Who are you? Where are you?” he spoke to thin air.

“You ruined it! Ruined it ALL! My plans, my beautiful plans.”

“Stop your whining and answer me!”

“Fool, fool, foo- … hmmmm… yes… yyeesssss…perhaps it’s not too late to remedy this. You may be of more use then I thought.”

The voice suddenly became more formal, as if the whole time it had been speaking to itself more then Mortis. Its words sounded sinister, but not hostile.

“I apologise for that earlier outburst. You are the Dune Hunter, are you not?”

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

“Not of your concern. Now I shall state my demand:
You have committed an act of murder, for which I have witnessed every moment. Should you fail to complete the task I am about to set you, I will not hesitate to spread the details of the deaths of the guards and the Sultan himself to all in the city. You may believe his affiliation with the Human Zoo is enough to keep you from the wrath of the people, but rumours are easily worded. It isn’t hard to make a justifiable killing sound like a cold blooded slaughter.”

“How dare you threaten me! Come face me yourself –“

“Shut up, I’m not finished. I will not have to do such things if you just do as I say. I too wanted to remove the Sultan, but as you did that first and earlier then I desired, you’ve hampered my plans. Help me execute my new plans, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

Mortis thought about this. The mysterious voice had him in a firm grip. He couldn’t afford rumours to spread around the city; not only would they ruin his friendship with the people it may jeopardise his contract with Braca. It seemed he had no choice.

“Alright,” he said slowly, “I’ll help you. But I expect more information soon.”

“All in due time. I am pleased you have decided to co-operate. Fly back past the canyon to the place the city dubs ‘the Dry Hills’. I will contact you further then.”


*****

So yes, some say the Sultan died to fast. But then, my arguement is that; how much of a match is a tubby man under the influence of a sword against an assasin demon?
And yes, perhaps the sword ended fast too, but it's roll in this part of the story is over. it'll be back, but in the sequel. i didn't want Mortis to waste anymore time with it. Contract 3 is probably my favourite one, and i hope you have time to read this last part. When your ready thxs.

[RevenantsKnight]

On your latest installment: no need to get defensive about how you handled it just yet; I thought that it was good in terms of the pacing and the time allotted to the various parts, since the dialogue alone is enough to keep the story going in this case. In general, I liked the first part of this, with Mortis and Hassani, though the bit afterwards leading into the next chapter didn’t quite feel as strong to me; I can’t say exactly why, but I’d guess that it seemed too abrupt. While it’s perfectly fine to leave the reader with questions, it feels like you might have forced this shift in because it needed to happen for reasons of plot. Some specific comments:

Only seconds before he’d been bearing down on Hassani, ready to fulfil the contract.

That should be “fulfill,” and I think you need a comma after “before.”

Then the man had spun so fast and so late that it was impossible for Mortis to dodge that cursed blade.

The wording of this sentence felt a bit awkward to me after “late”; grammatically, I think it should read “...that it had been impossible...” but that seems to clunk a little too. I might try revising this to something like “...spun so fast, too fast for Mortis to dodge...”

Not far off, the Sultan was shouting incoherent things like a loon, his brief success probably exhilarating him.

I’d change “things” to, well, almost anything else...it’s too vague to really fit the tone here. You could just delete it entirely and shuffle the sentence around a little to something like “...the Sultan shouted incoherently...” Also, I’d drop “probably” from the sentence, as I don’t think it’s necessary to qualify such things when said by an omniscient narrator unless you want it to be ambiguous, which doesn’t seem to be the case here.

“Flee creature, flee!”

There should be a comma after the first “flee.”

There was a madness in is eyes that wasn’t human.

That should be “...in his eyes.” Also, this is worth describing a little more; what about it makes it so not human?

The Sultan reached the cages base and screamed up at him.

That should be “cage’s base.”

Mortis glared at him through narrowed eyes.
“I would, but I would not be fighting you.”

I’d put this all on one line; as far as I can tell, there’s no need for the break.

Mortis sighed and leaned down towards him.
“If that’s what you wish, then –“

See above comment.

Instead he jumped off and glided to the side, where he hit the sand and came up in a defensives stance.

That should be “defensive stance.”

Mortis was impressed.
“Not bad for a fat man.”

I think this should be on one line.

“Shut up devil, silence your cursed words.”

Technically, the comma after “devil” should be a semicolon, and there should be another comma after “up.”

They wrestled unmoving for a second, each trying to overpower the other, until Mortis began to squeeze.

“Wrestled unmoving” read weirdly to me; grammatically, it seems as if they were wrestling something called an unmoving. I’d put a comma after “wrestled” to address this.

With a loud crack the Sultans elbow splintered and his arm went limp.

That should be “Sultan’s.” A general note: whenever you’re indicating possession, such as here, use an apostrophe and an “s”; using only an “s” usually makes the plural form.

This mistake comes up a lot in your writing, so I’d like to offer you a little challenge, and you can decide if you’d like to take it up or not: for the next chapter of the story, go through it once you’re done writing it and see if you can use this general guideline to make sure that all such uses are grammatically correct. There’s no real reward for this, other than personal satisfaction, so feel free to ignore it if you are so inclined. If you do decide to try this, let me know.

something changed in his features, and he blinked, as if he was seeing things clearly.

I’d make this all one sentence, and so capitalize “something.” Also, the part after “blinked” seems like fact, really, so I’d suggest just stating it with something like “...blinked, his sight clearing” or replacing it with something more evocative.

He drove a light punch into the mans stomach to quell his movements, then held him up straight.

That should be “man’s.”

The Sultan merely stared at him, struggling to recover from his winding.

“Winding” read oddly to me at first, since there’re other readings of the word. I’d suggest replacing it with something like “...to recover his breath.”

“Your families decay and corruption amuses it, and I believe you’ve been a fantastic puppet so far.”

That should be “family’s.” What you have here is the plural form.

The Sultan regained his voice.
“Yes... yes!”

I’d put this all on one line.

Mortis smiled and his grip on the man’s shoulder tightened.
“That might be so.”

A general note: if you plan to set off quotations from narration, then it’s usually a good idea to put a blank line between them as opposed to just moving the quotation to the next line down, because then it’s easier for the reader to distinguish between them. In some of these cases, it’d also be just fine, if not better in some ways, to just leave everything in the same paragraph. Single uses of the “return” key, though, usually aren’t used for much. I guess, though, that this is a stylistic call, so I’m going to stop mentioning these for the rest of the piece; if you want to change them, go ahead, and if not, you’re probably tired of me bringing this up again.

The man gulped, then glared defiantly into his assailants eyes.

That should be “assailant’s.”

“You won’t get away with it” he hissed, “People will suspect you.”

I’d make the comma after “hissed” a period because the capitalization of “People” suggests that you’re starting a new sentence there, and put another comma after “it,” inside the quotes.

Mortis brought his face close to the Sultans ear.

That should be “Sultan’s,” for possession (his face.)

“And one final thing Hassani” his voice became low and sinister, “I’ve been to Hell. You’re wife isn’t waiting for you there.”

Well, I very much liked Mortis’s words here; nicely done with that. There’re some grammar issues here, though; there should be commas after “thing” and “Hassani,” the second one inside the quotes. Also, “his voice...” read a bit awkwardly given the rest of the sentence and I’d suggest rewording it to something like “he growled, his voice low and sinister,” and “you’re wife” should be “your wife.”

The Sultans eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

That should be “Sultan’s.”

The Sultans staggered, staring in horror at his own insides, before desperately trying to push them back in with his one good hand.

That should be “Sultan.” And ouch...that’s gotta hurt. Nice detail at the end.

With a heavy thud he fell to the sand, face buried deep. Mortis stepped on his head to drive it in further.

Good extra glimpse of how Mortis acts.

He stooped to pull an emblem off the Sultans turban as proof.

That should be “Sultan’s.”

Moonlight trickled down, the stars twinkled excitedly.

I’d word that as “...down, and the stars...” As it is, the comma should be a semicolon.

“I feel you’re fear.”

That should be “your.” “You’re” is a contraction of “you are,” so unless Mortis is trying to say that the sword is fear (which doesn’t seem to work,) then this is incorrect.

The gaping hole in the sand yawned at them, a perfectly formed burrow heading down for an unknown length of space.

“...length of space” sounded a bit awkward to me; I’d see if you can’t reword this to something a bit tighter, such as “...down to an unknown depth.”

“The minds of Sand Maggotts are easily broken.”

That should be “Maggots.”

The force was unbearable, so desperate was the blade to escape its fate it was trying to break Mortis mind apart more then persuade him.

The comma after “unbearable” should technically be a semicolon, and this sensation is probably worth describing in a bit more detail, since a better image would give a strong idea of exactly what this blade’s capable of doing. If you want this thing to be a powerful beast in a can, then do as much as you can to make that come out in the details.

He listened to it whizzing and skimming, grinding sand from the walls as it slid further down into the Maggott’s darkest lairs.

That should be “Maggots’.”

He sighed and dusted the dust from his hands.

“Dusted the dust” sounded a bit repetitive, as well as odd considering where his hands have just been; maybe “rubbed blood from his hands” would be better considering that he just gutted someone with them.

He was feeling that strange fulfilment that always occurred after a successful job, as well as the adrenalin slowly seeping away.

That should be “fulfillment.”

His final words he had been quite proud of as well, though in truth he had no idea if the Sultan’s wife had avoided the eternal torments of Hell.

I’d word the first part as “He had been quite proud of his final words as well...” because as it is, it sounds a little awkward. It’s not a big deal, though...this is more of an author’s preference choice more than anything.

That didn’t matter of course, it was the grim satisfaction that came from the Sultans final expression that made the sentiment worthwhile.

The comma after “of course” should be a semicolon, and “Sultans” should be “Sultan’s.”

Mortis checked to make sure the Sultans emblem sat tightly in his pocket, and took to the air.

That should be “Sultan’s emblem.”

Mortis came to an abrupt halt mid-air, hovering and looking around urgently.

Minor nitpick: I think that should be “halt in mid-air.”

“Fool, fool, foo- … hmmmm… yes… yyeesssss…perhaps it’s not too late to remedy this. You may be of more use then I thought.”

This isn’t in italics in the original version...may want to change that.

“Now I shall state my demand:
You have committed an act of murder, for which I have witnessed every moment.”

A nitpick: I think that should be “...of which I have witnessed...”

He couldn’t afford rumours to spread around the city; not only would they ruin his friendship with the people it may jeopardise his contract with Braca.

That should be “...people, they might jeopardize...”

“Fly back past the canyon to the place the city dubs ‘the Dry Hills’.”

Pet peeve: “the Dry Hills”...urgh. I’d try to avoid game area names in general, and this one’s so generic anyway that it makes me wonder if the citizens of Lut Gholein speak in monosyllables. While it can’t hurt to give the reader some perspective of where this voice wants Mortis to go, I’d suggest a more descriptive phrasing, such as “...to the sandstone cliffs north of the city.” Not only does it use an original image as opposed to Blizzard’s computer graphics, it sounds more in keeping with the world to me, in that people may not know every bit of geography by name, but they’d certainly recognize things like large rock formations.

Overall, I thought this chapter was all right, and though it needs a dose of grammatical cleaning and such, it read pretty smoothly as it was. Looking forward to Contract 3...if that’s the part you really put yourself into, then it should be interesting indeed. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Hmmm... mucho mistakoes in that one :S Oh well, lucky we got you here ay Thanks ever so much again. I feel the story is beginning to run quite smoothly now.
I agree about the game area names, but Dry Hills was actually one i kinda liked. It's only mentioned twice, i can't seem to think of a way around it, so i guess i'll keep them for now. Contract 3 is bigger again, spanning 27 pages. This post is about 8 pages, so i apologise if it's quite large. Just don't want to take forever to get te whole thing out there. Whenever you have time, RK man

Contract 3 – Employer Unknown

Mortis drifted lazily over the dark cliffs below, the gaping black crack in the earth hiding the bodies of those he’d slain in his pursuit of the Sultan. Karhal had hopefully managed to pull up one of the horses for his ride back to the city. It would be a long walk for even the strongest human.

As he cleared the canyon, the great sand dunes of the Dry Hills rose before him. They rolled on forever, like ancient humpbacks in a moistureless sea. The voice had been silent for a while now, giving Mortis time to think about his situation. So many questions already needed answering.

Where was he meant to be going? Who was the owner of the mysterious voice? What was this ‘task’ it was going to set him? And would the boat with Braca and his next contract wait around for him or would they sail, presuming him to be dead by the Sultan’s wilful sword?

A clear snicker revealed that his thoughts were not going unheard.

“My my my, someone sounds like a control freak. Can’t cope with orders when the purpose is unclear, ay? How will you survive in our world?”

“I’ve done fine for more centuries then you’d be willingly to wager on,” Mortis growled. He’d slowed his flight now, awaiting directions.

“Oh, I’d be willing to wager. I know quite a bit about you. Let’s place a bet. How about… five million gold? That’s the reward for the death of the Sultan, is it not?”

Mortis stopped dead again.

“What did you say?”

“Oh you heard, ‘Dune Hunter’. I know aaalll your dirty little secrets, your employers, your contracts.”

“How?”

“Let’s just say the art of mind probing is a rare but useful skill. I didn’t sacrifice a portion of my soul to learn it so that I couldn’t take advantage of it.”

“It sounds like you’ve sacrificed some of your mind as well.”

“Shut up, what would you know.”

There was a long silence, and Mortis was just about to continue over the dunes when the voice spoke again in its formal tone.

”Fly two miles straight then a mile to your left. There you will see a long forgotten tomb. Await further instructions there.”

Mortis did not reply, but obeyed the directions. The starlight was beginning to fade now, with the first rays of dawn creeping over the horizon. He flew calmly, avoiding thought for the time being. How much information the strange voice had dug out of his mind was unfathomable. And dangerous. Thine enemy should never know you better then you know him.

After a calculated judgement and a winged turn to the left, he saw a conspicuous pile of rubble jutting out from the sand in the distance. It sat, dark and jagged, obviously worn by unknown eons of wind and sun. The barely visible doorway, half filled with sand, heralded a decent into darkness.

Mortis landed near the entrance and waited for the voice to return. He leaned against a pile of collapsed stone, wings casually folded near his sides, and began to clean the sand from his nails. It really did get everywhere.

“Wait there,” the voice suddenly boomed, “the tools for your task are on their way.”

Mortis sat up, alert, and scanned the horizon. Something was coming to give him items? Good, maybe he could beat it into telling him who the mysterious voice belonged to.

Nothing came into view for a good many minutes. Then his heightened senses picked up the soft beating of wings and a quiet but constant panting sound. He shielded his eyes from the strange, murky dawn-light and looked to the sky, where he saw a small demon coming his way.

During his long residence in this mortal ruled world, Mortis had rarely seen another demon walking the lands. He found himself staring at the little one coming towards him, as it flapped lightly down at his feet and dropped a scroll. It panted for breath, obviously having flown a long way very fast, and looked up at him curiously.

“You… you demon?!” it said at last in a high, squeaky voice. It really was tiny, perhaps only as big as Mortis’s hand. The shiny red scales covering its skin reflected the dawn light as Mortis stooped to pick it up by the scruff of the neck. It didn’t even attempt to struggle.

“And so are you, my little friend. But what species? I’ve never seen the likes of you in Hell.”

“Hell?! You been to Hell? Oh, the nights I spend wishing I could visit that place.” It was excited, chattering away and tapping its fingernails together; “My master made me. Born from magic, he say. Don’t know much more really.”

“Ahhh… you’re a familiar. Yes I’ve met a wizard or two that claimed they had demons to help them in their spells, but I’d never seen one.”

The familiar’s triangular face peered up at him, the big, black eyes filled with curiosity. Its tiny, razor-sharp fangs protruded from its lips, creating an almost comical buck tooth visage. Mortis turned it around slowly, still holding it by the neck, and frowned.

“But what kind of man can actually summon forth a demon from the mana? This is disturbing. Tell me of your master.”

The familiar suddenly became very jittering, and with a sharp twist it pulled itself free from Mortis’s grasp. It flew back a short distance then hovered in the air.

“Um… I sorry, but If I tell you anymore, master will dispel me. I must return. He’ll talk to you shortly on how to use the scroll and pentagram.” Then it turned and flapped quickly away over the dunes.

Mortis watched him go, both comforted by the presence of another demon and disturbed by the notion of a man who could create it. A man who was now commanding him as well.

He picked up the scroll and a small silver pentagram fell into his palm. It was warm to the touch, and Mortis felt the uneasy feeling in his stomach quicken. Whatever the voice had in mind, it was not good. The sign of the cross, now that would be less worrisome. But a pentagram…

“Never mind about that, I guarantee you’ll come to no harm. I’m pleased my pet found you successfully. Not the brightest of task handlers but they do the job right.”

“You have more of these… home-made demons? Of the same species?”

“Certainly! I have everything from vampires, to wraiths, to those beastly half-man, half-goat creatures. You’d be impressed by my collection.”

Mortis’s heart froze. He very suddenly wanted to be rid of this voice, and fast. A man with such capabilities, and with as little restraint as he portrayed, could be a very, very dangerous individual.

“You better be telling me the truth when you say you’ll vanish once I complete this task. Because if we ever cross paths…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Once you’ve done what I require, I plan to be somewhere very safe and out of reach. Even the Gods of Heaven and Lords of Hell won’t be touching me.”

“For your own sake, I hope you’re right. What you are doing is forbidden by nearly every fundamental law. There will be forces with power you can’t even imagine after you.”

“That’s for me to worry about. For now, you to just do what I say.”

Mortis instinctively snarled and flexed his fingers, wishing for the soft feeling of raw flesh under his nails.

“Fine. Then let’s get this over with.”

“Agreed. This tomb is known as ‘The Halls of the Dead’. It used to be the burial ground for many families in the city, but it has long since been abandoned. On the second level at the far south end, you will find a lone chamber, containing one sarcophagus. I’ll give you the last of your needed orders when you ‘think’ you’ve found it. E-heh.”

Mortis snorted, and the voice was gone. He glanced quickly at the strange words on the scroll, at the warming pentagram, and at the looming entrance to the Halls before him. He sighed. Then stepped into darkness.

*

“It’s alright, lad, it’s meant to be this dark. We’re not going to be ambushed. It’s just to deter the average citizen from wandering in by mistake.”

Mortis paused a couple more seconds in the doorway, then walked into the black corridor. Zac groped behind him. Demon eyes could adjust quite quickly to the dark, but the old man needed more time. Mortis led him down to the end, where a large steel door blocked their path.

“Pull on the chain,” Zac said, “It should be hanging to your right.”

Mortis looked up, spotted the chain, and gave it a hard tug. A dull ‘dink dink’ sounded, and a slot suddenly opened in the door. Two beady eyes peered into the darkness, squinting to make out their silhouettes.

“Password?” the man behind the slot said gruffly.

“Open it now before I slit your throat from ear to ear,” Zac answered.

“Granted,” came the reply, and with a loud ‘chang’ and some ear piercing screeches, the door slowly began to open. Light flooded into the hallway, and Zac gave Mortis a push to get him inside.

The room inside would have been spacious, if it wasn’t packed full of furniture and spittoons. A rustic old organ sat in one corner, the man playing it banging away as If he couldn’t hear the out of tune notes it was producing. More men sat at the tables; rough, weather beaten men, murmuring away in low voices, drinking ale or playing cards. The air was thick with cigar smoke.

Mortis had seen Zac smoke these strange, leaf-made objects before in his hut. He thought they smelled bitter and vile, and now in this room where even the oxygen had to battle for space, he couldn’t help but grimace.

They were an ugly group; scarred, missing eyes, fingers and reeking like they’d slept with the barn animals. One looked up from his card game as they entered and grinned a toothless grin.

“Ay, what’s this then Zac? You got yourself a bodyguard or somethin’?”

“Nah, this be me boy! Mortis, meet the crew; the most respected and feared Thieves Guild in Khanduras.”

The men all looked up from their business, paused, then roared in laughter.

“Your boy, Zac?” a thief with an eye patch chortled; “Who’s the mummy, a vampire bat?”

“You really are a riot,” said a rogue with a limp, stationed behind them. He slapped Zac hard on the shoulder, not enough to hurt but enough to make the older man stumble forward.

“Easy, Dreg, I’m not as young as I –“

-WHUMP-

Mortis, not understanding the quirks of human interaction and friendship at this point in time, had grabbed the man by his filthy shirt and pinned him firmly against the wall. A silent snarl was on his face, and he looked ready to rip the man’s heart out.

The organ stopped suddenly with a single chorus of ugly notes, and the room was alive with the new sounds of scraping chairs and readying weapons. Crossbows, throwing knives, and even a short sword or two were drawn and pointing in Mortis’s direction. He looked at them all, still snarling, and didn’t release the man.

“Put him down, Mortis,” Zac said softly, smoothly. He put a hand on the big demons arm, reassuringly. “He meant me no harm.”

Mortis gave a final glare at the thief who’d hit his friend, and dropped him. He turned around, wings closing in and out, trying to force himself to step back from the edge.

“Everyone,” Zac started, “this is Mortis. And yes, he’s a demon from Hell. Anyone have a problem with that?”

Silence. One man finally piped up.

“What if we do?”

“Then you can feel free to take it up with me any day,” Zac said coldly. The thief went silent.

“Right,” Zac continued, “Mortis has been my pupil, and I think he’s almost ready to take part in a raid. What have we got planned for the future?”

A young rogue, perhaps in his early twenties, stepped forward.

“There’s a caravan belonging to a rich family coming through the pass soon. Some of us thought we might pop ‘em a visit. Lotsa shiny trinkets on that one I’m bettin’.”

A few jeers and snorts of laughter followed his statement, then went quiet again. An older thief next to the speaker spoke up.

“Yeah, and if we’re lucky maybe a juicy daughter or two as well.”

“Shut your trap, Jake,” Zac said sharply, cutting off any agreement from the rest of the guild. “You know better then that.”

He placed his hands flatly on a table, and leaned in towards the grubby group of thieves around him. To Mortis, it reminded him of a daily lesson. But the way the men went deathly quiet, lips sealed in thin lines and eyes wary, Mortis could tell it meant much more to them.

“Even the thieves have rules to abide by,” Zac stated, “We are not ruffians. We are collectors. We seek out and steal the most valuable items we can find, because we enjoy the challenge of its acquisition. It is a game. No one should get hurt. We threaten, we scare, but in the end we will only kill if we have too. If our own lives are in immediate danger, for example. And we never,” his expression darkened even further, “never hurt women. Goes for children too.

The thieves muttered and nodded their agreement.

“And don’t let me catch you chatting about it neither,” Zac added.

The men began to pick up their cards and cigars again, the lecture they’d heard perhaps every time Zac visited, over once again. Later on, the loud mouth who’d mentioned the ‘juicy daughters’ would be suitably punished for his brashness.

“Well, anyway,” the young thief started again, cautiously, “if he wants to join us on that raid, he can meet us at the pass tomorrow afternoon. We’ll show him the ropes. Though I don’t think a big guy like him is going to be much good at stealth work.”

“You’d be surprised,” Mortis said, speaking for the first time. “I may not be well versed in human activities, but I’ve had a good many years of practised hunting with the beasts of the woods.” He narrowed his eyes coldly and scanned over all the faces watching him through uneasy eyes. “I won’t slow you down.”

“Good then!” Zac said, signalling the door man to open it for them to leave; “We’ll see you boys tomorrow. Don’t gamble away all your chips tonight.”

The cards players chuckled and continued their game. The drinkers clinked drinks and downed them, ready for more. Mortis followed his tutor from the room back into the dark hallway, and they walked the passage together.

“I don’t like them,” Mortis said after awhile. “They don’t feel right.”

“Oh, that’s just first impressions. They never jump to welcome anyone new to the guild, and this is the first time a non-human has asked to do so. It was a better reaction then I expected.”

Mortis nodded silently. He still felt on edge, and he supposed he always would around men like that. A constant, paranoid feeling that one would plunge a knife into your back the second you turned it.

“You’ll get used to them, as will they to you,” Zac said calmly, reading Mortis’s thoughts from the look on his face. “In time, you’ll see they’re just like other people, just hardened by years of a career that’s socially unaccepted. It isn’t the easiest living to make, even harder if you aren’t skilled at it. And there’s no telling how much share of the loot you’ll get if you go on these joint raids. It’s a dog eat dog world.”

“I think I’d prefer to work with the dogs,” Mortis grumbled. Zac laughed.

“Just remember not to bite the hand that feeds you…”

*