Chapter 15. The Predators

his looks worth while,” Layla announced in a low whisper as she poked her face surreptitiously around the filthy wall of a building to gaze into a noisy alley.  They were behind one of Cantha’s less reputable drinking establishments.  Their search had proved fruitless until now.  Too many guards or too few unsuspecting drunkards of the wrong kind.  It amused Drakkonus to think that their occasional depredations might be holding the warrior population in check.

It did not help matters that Ashe preferred Tyrians.  So many of them had no friends or family remaining after the Searing.  While it was tragic, it made them excellent targets.  They vanished and no one came looking for them.  Obviously, if they found a lone Canthan of the right type, they did not pass it up, but tonight they had found the perfect candidate.

Tight-lipped as ever, Drakkonus nodded to the woman and quietly dropped his pack to the ground.  With any luck, one or both of the men would wear themselves down sufficiently that capturing their desired victim would be relatively easy.  He glanced at Layla, finding her both beautiful and intimidating.  Her golden hair was neatly bobbed, framing her delicate features and giving her an almost girlish appearance.  The illusion was shattered, however, by the extremely voluptuous cut of her tightly-laced bodice and short silvery skirts. 

Excitement and malice flashed in her blue eyes for she loved nothing more than to make others suffer.  The prospect of the coming capture was already causing her to perspire slightly so that her pale flesh gleamed in the dimness of the slum’s deep shadows.  Drakkonus watched as she concealed her cruel but lovely face behind a steely mask.  Always she had a flair for drama.

“Which one do we want?” he asked, deferring to Layla.  Personally, he hated her.  She was in bed with their master and could do no wrong.  He had a list of reasons for serving Ashe, not least of which was money but the other was also a study in power.  He admired the subtle and not so subtle manner in which the man accomplished his aims.  But he resented Ashe and Layla, also.  She had a direct line to the man’s mysterious puissance that Drakkonus would never equal.

“The big Tyrian in the Kurzick armor.  I think the other is a member of the Am Fah.”

“No guild affiliation.  Nice.”

“He has had formal training.  I believe he left his cape at home.”

“What home?” Drakkonus snorted derisively, even though he was himself Tyrian.  He regarded his homeland with disdain.  Even at its height, Ascalonian culture was never as advanced as Cantha.  They were barely above Luxon dogs in literacy and lore.  He had only contempt for those who sought to rebuild it.  Rebuilding assumed there had been something worthwhile there to begin with.   Even other Tyrians seemed to agree with that assessment, he thought, amused by the sight of yet another Tyrian in the trappings of a foreign land.

“Stupid Am Fah assassins,” Layla groaned as two showed up to join the fight, dropping lightly as spiders from the balcony of one of the scabby buildings.  This close to Maatu, the squalid conditions of the city put Drakkonus in mind of a walled cess pit.  The place stank and, although he was no where near as concerned about his appearance as Layla, he did watch his step on the greasy cobbles for fear of stepping in something nasty.

“We should go ‘help’,” Drakkonus mused, “Win his confidence.  Two Tyrians coming to his aid?  We can probably get him to walk outside the gates with us.”

“Marvelous plan,” Layla chuckled, “Let’s go.”

The cornered warrior swung his barbed blade frantically, his breath rasping through his metal helm as the assassins and a purple robed knight pressed him.  He had already managed to take out their elementalist and the bloody wreckage of the man stained the cobbles red.  Layla uttered a swift curse and the man’s attackers fell back, crying out in rage and agony, turning now to see the new arrivals.  An assassin immediately retreated from the warrior and leapt toward Layla, shrieking as she lashed him with a hex, his flesh growing pale and gleaming under a feverish sweat as his life energies plummeted.  Drakkonus’ body crackled with energy as he focused, becoming a conduit between earth and sky.  And now opening a door into the realm of air he let fly a potent bolt of lightning, a wicked smile turning his lips at the odor of burned flesh mingled with the sickly sweet odor of ozone.  With a strangled scream, the assassin dropped, twitching as the lightning flared and grounded itself through his twisted body.

“Thank you!” the warrior gasped, raising his winged shield to block the Am Fah knight’s blow.  Exhausted, the man staggered but instantly rebounded, driving the thug back under a flurry of vicious sword strikes.  The second assassin had already assessed the situation and was on his way out when Layla snarled another hex and slowed his retreat, giving Drakkonus ample time to finish the long incantation that drew chain lightning down upon the heads of their foes.  The world cracked open with a deafening roar. White hot columns of light blasted the enclosed space, spearing the hapless assassin and slaughtering the Am Fah warrior.  The assassin spasmed helplessly, yet rose steaming and singed from the cobbles, staggering away only to be destroyed by the Tyrian warrior’s final blow.

Drakkonus was panting, his heart hammering with exhilaration as the electrified air caused his senses to sing of power and death.  Closing his eyes, he pulled his energies inward, detaching himself from the realm of air.  Layla had already regained her composure and was curtseying to the stranger, winning his confidence with her beauty and no doubt, her gift for flattery and charm.

“My lady, your help is as welcome as your beauty,” the warrior replied, swiftly laying aside his spiked blade and shield to greet them, “Tyhric Wolfblade at your service.”

“You may call me Layla,” she said, smiling sweetly as the man kissed her delicate hand, “And this is Drakkonus Firestorm, my friend and associate.”

“Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir,” Tyhric said, bowing respectfully.  Drakkonus proffered a terse smile and bowed in return.

“This is a very bad part of town,” Layla said, “Why were you alone?”

Drakkonus had to admit, Layla was always thinking and plotting.  No wonder Ashe favored her.

“I hired mercenaries to assist me,” Tyhric said with an edge of annoyance, “We were overwhelmed and though I called a retreat, they refused to follow.  I fear they may be lost.  I was trying to reach the safety of Maatu.”

“Ah yes,” Layla chucked, “Some of the hired help is worse than useless.  I am sorry they failed you.”

“I fear to think what might have happened had you not arrived when you did,” the big warrior said, laughing.  Drakkonus laughed as well, deciding it was best to put the fool at ease.  At least he had not been traveling with guild mates.  That would have complicated things.  Still, Drakkonus noted the man spoke as one who was well educated and his ebon hair was neatly slicked back into a tidy tail. His features were classic Ascalonian, dour and strong-jawed, possibly a descendant of the old knights that served the royal court.

He would not be easy to deceive.  He glanced at Layla, wondering if she had already arrived at this conclusion.  It was difficult to tell as she continued with her ‘giddy-pretty-woman-overwhelmed-by-charming-man’ routine soon to be followed by ‘treacherous-woman-betrays-charmed-man-to-evil-master’.  Yet another reason Drakkonus feared and hated mesmers to the same degree he was drawn to them.

“If I can in some small way repay this debt to you, I would do so gladly,” Tyhric replied, “Simply name it.”

“As a matter of fact, we are on our way to House Zu Heltzer.  Would you be willing to help us reach our destination?”

“Gladly, my Lady,” the man replied smoothly, “I, myself, was headed there.”

“Excellent,” Layla purred and Drakkonus saw the familiar gleam of excited malice in her pale eyes, “Let us go forth.”