By Frank Gori
Zool heard the
crackle and crash of lightning, which conveniently masked the sound
of him kicking in the backdoor. The door crashed hard into whoever
was on the other side, which was fine by Zool.
He rushed in buckler
forward, with his sword held in a menacing guard across his body,
pistol crossbow ready in the other hand. Magic was the wrong play
against mages, hitting hard and fast was better.
Sides weren’t hard
to figure, the School’s hideout was a repurposed warehouse with a
second floor addition. This meant the first floor was mostly just one
huge room with columns. A Half-Elf male with a bow, an Ogre female
with a shield spell and a two handed axe, a Gren girl with a wand
ready standing in front of an assortment of children, and a couple
elderly on one side. About half a dozen crazy eyed sorcerers, all
young males, still standing on the other. Another eight or so bodies
littered the ground.
Three things become
clear in the seconds it took Zool to cross the ground between him and
his first target. First, the old folks and kids were all
counter-spelling the magic-crazed sorcerers, which is why the addicts
were losing. Second, bees were enveloping a couple of his targets
toward the front, and finally his enemies had no idea he was behind
them.
It was over in two
sword strokes and a quick crossbow bolt. Bard-songs
make battles sound fancy and romantic, but in Zool’s
experience battle was always like this, short, brutal and bloody. The
men were barely winning against the ragtag assortment of folk to
begin with; flanking surprise attacks in rapid succession were all it
took to turn the tide. The fellow with the bow knew how and when to
shoot, so this wasn’t his first dust up. Ogre girl had some power,
just lacked some sense, and singed Zool a bit with a poorly placed
fireball.
Fight being over
meant the hard part. The part that Zool elected to skip when he
could. Lazeron could do the talking, Laz could sort out the aftermath
and count the dead. Zool muttered a few words and gestured. As he
suspected, a number of the dead had items that glowed a soft blue.
With a smile, Zool went to work stripping them of anything of worth.
The archer kid
racked up a few kills despite the baby-face. Always was hard to tell
age with elf bloods. That kid could have five decades on Zool. Deadly
with a bow, but he was watching Laz talk like sons watch their
fathers when the father was still a god to them. Zool made sure to
retrieve his arrows as he worked.
Laz was in full
speech mode, explaining that the folk that wanted to follow him could
but they’d be leaving everything. In Zool’s estimation there
really wasn’t a choice, from what he could see about half the gang
was either dead or already left to join rival schools. This
neighborhood was about to get split up by neighboring schools and
there’d be blood over who got what. Laz’s strays didn’t fit
neat into that, they’d come with or become fresh meat in a turf
war.
Zool didn’t like
to go to his kills right away. He liked to build anticipation while
gauging exactly who had what that he didn’t kill. Made it more
exciting when he had clues but no real evidence of what he’d find.
As it stood the dead here clearly raided an arsenal of gear or Laz
was an overly generous leader. Fourteen dead, counting Zool’s three
and a half. He was about half through, the anticipation was really
building.
Sun would be up in
an hour or so and Zool really wanted to be out of the mage controlled
district by then. Only a fool wouldn’t take Laz’s offer, so the
question and answer session was just wasting time. But now Zool was
done with the others he could make claims on his three.
The two wands were
obvious enough, but the wandless mage had a silver ring with a
stylized rams head that soon graced Zool’s crossbow finger. Another
had a pair of emerald earrings that didn’t glow blue but would
fetch a nice price. A nice silken cape and shirt on one of the wand
fellows along with a belt buckle and an exquisite set of boots. Zool
was pleased in particular with the boots. They glowed strong and a
good sunder always had to mind their feet.
A quick riffle
through the purses got Zool about 2 months pay and a tiny ebony fly.
Even trying on his new gear, Zool was done in just a few minutes and
people were still arguing. Fuck it, there was no time for this.
Zool closed the
distance with a blur his sword clearing the scabbard silent and swift
as a breath. He drew a single drop of blood from the cantankerous
one’s throat as everyone gasped in shock at his speed and audacity.
“Each word you
speak wastes time we don’t have. If you don’t want to come then
perhaps I should do you the mercy of a swift death,” Zool spoke the
words calmly and softly, his gaze was hard and met all that dared.
“Lazeron is kind, he cares for your well being. I, on the other
hand, can care less. I’ve been paid to get him in and out safely
with or without you, so choose now. We have about forty minutes
before the dawn and I do not want to be anywhere near here when that
happens.”
Zool withdrew his
blade and turned his back on them. “I piled the useful items from
the dead over to the left, I recommend you take a moment to arm
yourselves better, and then fall the fuck in,” he said as he walked
out the back.
Everyone was ready
about five minutes later. Zool hated the talking part.
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