Black Sashes #4

4. Give and Take

The time had come for the prisoners to start training as a group unit. Jos had seen them develop over the last few weeks, growing closer together and developoing friendships, despite the appearance that Kharza put out with his acerbic tongue. So he had entered them into Group Training Session #1, an arena test. They were loaded into an underground arena that was reminiscent of a gladiatorial arena, though much, much larger. Rain and fog were artificially (magically) produced, and it was already dark as the dead of night. Vision was near zero, even for those blessed with darkvision, like Ixtha, Rilgar and Ayric among others. Even Kharza, with his infravision to complement his darkvision, was unable to see well in the cold, dark cavern. The wind didn't help either, biting into their bodies with a vicious edge and howling loudly as it barreled around the arena. The rules were set up: Weapons were handed out to the group, a combination of illusion and reality, a phantasm as it were. The prisoners and participants all knew the weapons to be illusions, but believed in their existence enough to furnish it. When they struck, they would produce a stunningly realistic display that would not actually injure the person, but activate other magic. Wounds that would hamper actually hampered, wounds that caused the use of a limb to be impaired did so, and death was simulated with paralysis.

The prisoners would be going against the Eyes of Zolas, the major intelligence group that the Zolasian monarchy wielded. They functioned as spies both in and out of Zolas, seeking out threats all over Sarcera. Several hours before the training session, the two groups were introduced, though they met warily. The Eyes were legitimate members of Zolas, citizens and soldiers in the army. The prisoners were neither citizens or recognized members of any Zolasian institution as yet, identitiless nobodies of dangerous potential. But they met anyway, and Jos introduced them. Rikimaru Hantei, the leader of the Eyes, his brother Akira; Kellith Goldbow, Serena Manweaver, Dhalia Fleetfoot, Delg the Reaver, Voden BlueEyes (A Luporian), Laeros Silvertongue (a half-celestial like Rilgar, though without the wings), Garret the Soundless of Parmec fame, and Atheron of the Golden Radiance, a worshipper of Cindral, the luck goddess. The Eyes were a moderately experienced group, having worked together for the last three years, and functioned brilliantly. They were the golden boys of the Black Talons.

But the prisoners hoped to upset that reputation and knock them down a peg as they entered the arena from two random entrances, each group together. The rain startled them, something unexpected underground, but Jos explained that it was simulated for above-ground conditions, and that the cavern ceiling was hundreds of feet above. He would observe, with his group of guards, from the stands built into the cave walls, using magic to see properly. The exercise began.

Kharza: These conditions are horrible. I can barely see anything, and I'm cold! Even in the heat spectrum, nothing!
Jarek: Quit whining, Kharza. It isn't so bad. (He smiles to himself, knowingly)
Warrax: Where are your barbs now, drow? You seem so small and puny.
Kharza: Close at hand, half-breed wretch, so do not dare to tempt my ire!
Warrax and Feldagar: (laughing)
Rilgar (harsh whisper): Quiet! You will give our position away! They're out there, waiting for us. Spread out like we practiced, in teams!

The ten prisoners split up into two-man teams: Rilgar and Willow, Jarek and Feldagar, Warrax and Ixtha, Tevlin and Kharza, as well as Cedric and Ayric. The teams spread aparnt into a five-part wedge formation, creeping forward into the impenetrable darkness with Jarek's team on the point, since he evidenced more sight than everyone else. A muffled scream cried out in the darkness, but was cut short. Jarek's open hand came up in a flash, halting the group on a dime. They stopped, and listened, but heard nothing more than the howl of wind and the splattering of sheets of rain on the muddy ground below.

A shadow detached itself from the night, emerging behind Kharza and Tevlin at the left and rear of the formation. It raised a knife made from the stuff of fantasy, and crept up behind the drow soundlessly, ghosting across the land as if it floated. The knife came up and slashed a wide, inverted rainbow across the ebon skin of the elf. To all others, the shadow included, it appeared as if the drow's neck began to fountain blood, and he grabbed at his throat and twisted around as he crumpled to the muddy ground, dying silently and quickly. In reality, of course, that scene was an illusion. Kharza cursed loudly and dropped into the mud of his own accord, and the death-paralysis set in, leaving him there. For a moment, it seemed the night smiled, a wide ivory grin of arrogant smugness.

Tevlin: Kharza? Where are you? Where did you go?

Tevlin's whispers went unanswered as he sought his teammate. There could be no answers, even as he searched the night. His grey eyes glimmered in a way reminiscent of a fox's eyes, or a lion's, light reflecting off the back of his eyes more readily than those of a human. Those eyes saw in the darkness, and even so only marginally better than a human because of the rain and fog, but they saw well enough to catch a glimpse of Kharza's body in a pool of his own blood. He started, but before he could yell out, something hard blew the air out of his lungs and doubled him over. That same thing nailed him in the chest, toppling him over into the mud while he wheezed, the rain blinding him completely, and then something hit his head and he knew nothing but the darkness of unconsciousness.

Rilgar could tell something was wrong in an instant, he had a sort of sixth sense for these sorts of things. He couldn't hear Kharza or Tevlin any longer, couldn't hear their footsteps or their breathing. They were gone. He cursed in his mind, lamenting the loss of their entire set of magical support. His darkvision was almost as useless as regular sight, but it served him well enough to navigate around the rocks, trees and other landscape items. He could still hear and feel and smell well enough, so he could still catch an enemy sneaking up on him. And Willow was next to him, padding along as silently as he. She was close enough to him that he could feel the warmth of her breath on the back of his neck, hear the rustle of her shirt as she moved. His ears caught the sound of something hitting the ground, he thought, but fog did odd things to sound and he could not trust it, so he moved on.

By nature, a nine foot fiend in a suit of full plate mail armor walking beside a ten foot draconian with four arms and a set of bat wings was not a stealthy group. They tried, of course, padding along as silently as they could, but it just did not work. And eventually, they were spotted and hunted down. Ixtha felt a sting in his thigh, looking down to find a dart. But before he could say anything, he swooned and slumped into the mud. Warrax felt the vibrations, saw Ixtha go down with his fiendish vision, and yelled out, bellowing forth a bestial roar of rage. It was an impotent gesture, as he was quickly enveloped in a raging ball of acid, similar to a fireball. He fell, smoking and sizzling.

The impossibly loud roar that Warrax loosed was heard all across the cavern, echoing around repeatedly until it finally faded away. Ayric peered about intently, his fey ears listening, straining to hear something, anything that woud hint at the location of his opponents. Warrax's roar was a good indicator, but if they were even somewhat intelligent, they would have moved on long ago. His bow wasn't entirely useless, but if he couldn't see, he wouldn't be able to hit anything with an y accuracy anyway. There were other things to try, of course, and he had a plan to take advantage of one of these tactics. Motioning for Cedric to follow him, he crouched low and crab-walked towards a tree he spotted. Crab-walking would do little against someone who could see in this soup, but for everyone else it would make them a much less visible target to attack. Soundlessly, he scaled the tree and positioned himself on a low branch, drawing a dagger and motioning for Cedric to stay put and keep watch. He settled in, and waited.

And waited. Nearly an hour and a half passed before someone took the bait. Ayric smiled to himself, secretly, as he saw who his target was. As before with Kharza and Tevlin, a shadow seemed to tear itself from the very fabric of the night, forming into a vaguely humanoid shape. It drifted across the ground, a dagger in one hand, Cedric blindly unaware of its presence. As the dagger rose for the strike, Ayric moved. Dropping downwards, he hooked his knees on the tree branch and swung forward, dagger flashing. The steel blade caught the shadow unaware, and swung from ear to ear, opening its quite-human throat and spinning it around. Gurgling a moment, and alerting Cedric to its presence finally, it dropped into the mud. Ayric's grim smile intensified as he peered down at the arrogant Garret the Soundless, watching his paralyzed form get soaked and further covered in mud. Garret the Soundless, the famous thief from Parmec, the Zolasian capital city. His fame came from a time when he was framed for a series of thefts and murders he did not commit, and his unbelievable solo work in uncovering a wide-ranging conspiracy involving Zalzabran spies and a small group of illithids, the hated mind flayers from beneath the surface of Sarcera. Jos recruited him less than a week after that situation was resolved and cleaned up.

Cedric: What now?
Ayric: We move.

As Ayric spoke, Cedirc gurgled and dropped, the elf's keen eyes spotting the arrow that had lodged in Cedric's neck sending a fountain of blood spewing forth all over the mud. The rain quickly diluted it, but it kept coming for a long time. Finally, the flow ebbed, but Ayric had taken action long before that happened. He knew it could only have been Rikimaru, the leader of the Eyes of Zolas, for only he could see well enough in these conditions to make that accurate a shot from that kind of distance. His eyes were orbs of purest obsidian, the eyes of a Shadow Weaver. The rarest of rare things, Shadow Weaver's were humans mostly, some humanoids and demi-humans, with a tie to the essence of Shadow, a supernatural binding to darkness, to the very Shadow Plane gifting them (or cursing them) with a set of supernatural powers that develop with time and experimentation. Some never develop to their full potential, but those that do become potent beings. The Zalzabrans breed them like livestock, train them and enslave them right from day one. There, they are more common than elsewhere in Sarcera, and still rather rare. Rikimaru was a Zalzabran defector, having fled from a breeding colony shortly after completing his training as an assassin. His eyes saw all, through fog and smoke, through rain and darkness, his vision pierced all barriers, even the magical. His eyes were familiar, why was that? Ayric knew he must make a note of that, but more pressing things were about. He dove to the side, rolling away from several arrows thudding into the mud.

Ayric: Rikimaru is here!

The elf yelled out just in case any of his comrades-at-arms were nearby, a warning to all to stay away. Something tapped him on the shoulder twice and he spun, his shortswords singing as they slid from their sheathes, but he found his wrists gripped tightly, his weapons immobilized. He completed the turn and stared up... into the golden-glowing eyes of Rilgar Hawkeye, the immensely tall half-celestial, one of his fellow prisoners. Rilgar's white, feathery wings were plastered against his back, folded in and soaked from the rain, but they rustled about now and then, shaking the water free. The big man (seven feet tall!) grabbed the elf's shoulders and pulled him behind a rock, where he spotted Willow, a fistful of knives in each hand, a grim look of determination on her face. As Ayric watched, the light ebbed from Rilgar's eyes, the glow fading to reveal for a moment a pair of eyes as dark as Rikimaru's. Could he also be a Shadow Weaver? Two in the employ of Zolas? But no, the shadows, for that was what they were, receded from Rilgar's steel grey eyes, revealing regular eyeballs. That's where he knew those eyes from! Jarek! Ayric's mind raced furiously on this tangential topic. Jarek had eyes like Rikimaru! HE must be the Shadow Weaver, he had to be. Rilgar interrupted this line of thought with his trademark simplistic style.

Rilgar: Move now, stay close.

The trio hunched down low and moved out, a tight triangle arrowing away from Rikimaru's last guessed position. Arrows landed all around them in a hail of wood and steel, but none of them were able to hit in the rain, with the wind blowing in from the side, and the target moving. Rilgar even managed to catch one, the only arrow that flew on target. It would have hit Willow right at the base of her spine, but a deft movement from his right hand plucked it out the air like a dandelion seed.

Willow: Thanks. (She smiled one of her sunrise-beautiful smiles)
Rilgar: My pleasure.

Ayric groaned quietly under his breath, bemoaning to himself that he was stuck with the two who were so obviously infatuated with one another that neither could see it in themselves. Their flight lead them to a cliff. A cliff? How could that be possible? They were in an arena. But it was actually a cavern with construction to give it an arena feel, and boundaries. It was still a natural underground formation, and cliffs were formed just as easily as the cave itself was, with time and water. Rilgar peered over, his eyes dim while he scanned the cliff with his darkvision.

Rilgar: It's only ten feet deep. And it doesn't look too wide, though I can't be sure in this weather.
Ayric: That would be foolish: It is almost a certainty that the Eyes have set a trap around here. They train in this arena daily, and know the terrain. They would be well aware of this feature. (He paused, sniffing) And that is Laeros' cologne that I smell on the wind. He probably doesn't realize the wind is shifting so much.
Rilgar: (sniffing) I hadn't noticed that before. That is impressive, Ayric.
Ayric: Indeed.
Willow: So what do we do now, if they're waiting for us?
Ayric and Rilgar: We climb.

Fortunately for the trio, Rilgar had loaded himself up almost as much as Jarek had, carrying all manner and hue of equipment and weaponry in a backpack, two bandoleers and three belts. Among the supplies he carried were several long coils of silk rope. Plan in mind and tactics chosen, they moved out, clambering down the cliff face in a long line, the rope looped around their waists, attaching each to the other. Suddenly, prey had become predator, and things were about to get interesting...