The Hellhound War (Ch8)

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Chapter 8

Flash in the Pan

Just as Waylon had predicted, a servant stood waiting for him at his apartment’s door. The silver clad man led him to the South corridor, back towards the portal room. But instead of walking to the end of the hallway, the servant stopped just inside the corridor at a door John hadn’t noticed before.

The man opened the door and entered.

“This is the training room, my Lord,” the man said, opening the door and walking in. “Master Slayer Quinn Tekal will be here momentarily. Please wait here.”

John resisted the urge to thank him and instead rudely ignore him, as was expected of him.

Wordlessly, the nameless servant bowed deeply before turning on his heels and leaving him.

The training room was sparse. It had four walls, a wooden floor, and a single rack that sported various types of weapons. That was it. If he hadn’t been a Slayer, he suspected the room was pitch black too for he didn’t see any skylights or obvious sources of light. His eyes must have picked up on the minute specks of light underneath the door because the room was bright as day.

He didn’t have to wait long before the wall opposite of him split in two. Surprised by the hidden door, he instinctively reached for his slider but stayed his hand when he saw a nondescript Caprian man stroll forward. As the door closed behind the Slayer, John assessed his opponent. There wasn’t anything special about him. Average in height and looks, most would pass the man off as just another Slayer. But John’s eyes found a little silver sword pinned to his black uniform’s collar and, from Celia’s late night lectures, he knew the man was anything but average.

Tekal’s blademaster.

Immediately John became weary.

In the entire Empire, John could count on one hand how many men held the title blademaster. The title wasn’t handed out lightly in the South and from what Celia had told him the tradition continued beyond the Grimwall. Becoming one had been one of his dreams but it required being trained by a blademaster and. while he knew all of them by name, he’d never had the chance to meet one in person.

“John, I presume?” the man drawled. He had a distinctive accent that John hadn’t ever heard before.

“Yes, Master Slayer Quinn Tekal,” John said, bowing a little deeper than protocol demanded. He had a great respect for anyone who’d earned the title blademaster.

Quinn’s eyes sized him up and unconsciously John stood up straighter.

“You’re from the Red Guard?”

“Yes sir.”

Quinn turned his head to the side slightly, his eyes focusing on the slider strapped to John’s thigh.

“Then you prefer the gladius style sword?”

He was about to answer yes, but hesitated.

Pulling free his slider, John made it grow. He watched the blade extend outward, slowly increasing in girth and length until it was a full size standard Kalian (and Ce’lian) sword. He’d known it was a gladius type sword, but he hadn’t ever thought that there were any other type of swords available to Slayers since Celia had the same style.

“Are there other types of mage forged swords?”

“Isn’t that what I had implied?” Quinn replied with a twinkle to his eye.

OK, I’d walked into that one.

Gladiuses were very basic, but because of it they were versatile. John knew of other types of blades, many of which he ran into against the desert savages. Some were longer, requiring two hands to hold, some were curved to help with slashing from a mount, and others were heavy with thick dull blades meant to smash bone. He’d even seen a few men in the Red Guard sporting needle like blades, trading off weight typically used for slashing and hacking for speed in thrusting. As one could imagine, with the variety of blades also came an equally variety of fighting styles. All of them had their advantages and disadvantages…

His eyes widened in realization and Quinn, who must have seen the wheels turning in his eyes, smiled at him knowingly.

Having Slayer abilities, a weapon nearly indestructible, and a razor sharp never-dulled-blade that could “slide” it’s length…. if John thought about it, the whole paradigm could be changed.

As he rolled the possibilities around in his head, Quinn walked over to the wall and pulled off a large double edged dagger. Flipping it over on it’s tip, the Slayer threw the weapon at him.

Using his enhanced reflexes, John easily plucked the dagger with his offhand and was surprised by the weapon’s weight. The pitch black blade was significantly heavier than his other slider. It had the general shape of a trapezoid, unlike the traditional needle tip. It also had a very simple--albeit thin--crossguard with Tekal’s three triangles etched into the large grip.

“Fighting Hellhounds is different than fighting men, wouldn’t you say?” Quinn said with a knowing look in his eye. John eyed the Slayer, before looking back at the new blade in his hand. He sheathed his slider and tossed the blade between his hands to get a feel for its balance.

Its was, of course, perfect,

Reaching into the weapon with his senses, John gently extended himself into the cool mage born metal and watched the blade slowly elongate outwards, maintaining it’s double edged trapezoid shape until it reached about where his current slider stopped. Realizing the weapon wasn’t resisting him like his other slider, he pushed more of himself into it.

The blade continued to grow longer, but so did the crossguard. Looking down, he watched the grip extended to accommodate another hand, and the blade’s width suddenly started to dramatically to increase to catch up with the crossguard.

John’s eyes widened when the blade finally resisted his coaxings.

It was massive.

Turning the giant blade over, he took in the comically oversized sword.

“What do you think?” Quinn asked. The tone in his voice suggested the question was a test.

Feeling the blades weight with one hand, he discovered that the weight hadn’t changed and, thinking back, he realized the weight of his other slider hadn’t change either when comparing dagger length to full gladius length.

“Very clever,” John said, appreciating the weapon. “It doesn’t have much of a crossguard at full extension but, as you pointed out, you don’t really need one when fighting Hellhounds. And even if you did cross swords with someone, you could always shrink it back to a normal size where the crossguard is there. Not that you’d want it to be fully extended all the time...”

John made a few cuts and his suspicions were confirmed. It’s massiveness hindered most cuts he was use to delivering with a gladius.

“But, timed right with the proper thrust or chop, you could deliver a serious blow,” John said, nodding to himself as he shrunk it back to some semblance of a traditional sword. “With the added weight, you get a lot more force.”

He went through a few maneuvers with the blade and practiced extending it to it’s fullest in mid swing, maximizing its effectiveness, before shrinking it back on the draw, making it maneuverable again.

After a few drills, he stopped and admired the weapon.

“You can get a lot of reach with this,” John said, impressed. “It’s like a giant meat cleaver. And because of our strength you don’t have to handle it with two hands if you don’t want to, so you can still use the vambrace. I’m impressed.”

Quinn, who had watched him through his practice drills, nodded to himself.

“Let’s see if you deserve the Exorcist,” Quinn said.

The words set off warning bells in John’s head and the Vanguard had drilled into him that when there were bells, you didn’t think, you raised your guard.

One second the blademaster was twenty paces away, the next he was directly in front of John with a thin dueling sword shooting forward at his heart like an arrow.

John hadn’t imagined it before when Celia had suddenly appeared in front of him the other day when she had sheathed her dagger in his shoulder. The “quickstep”, as she’d called it, was a byproduct on bursting, which was one of the handful of advance abilities in a Slayer’s arsenal.

Bursting was when a Slayer consumed far more energy than what they did unconsciously. Celia had compared it to breathing. Everyone did breathed without thinking, but if the need arose anyone could consciously hold their breath longer or breath faster. The amount of energy that a Slayer held in their well--using her water analogy--was limited, though, so bursting more than once or twice wasn’t recommended. Once the well dried up, a Slayer became for all intents and purposes a normal human being until it was replenished. Like his mad dash across Kalian, he’d unknowingly consumed a lot of his energy. The cakes had helped but eventually he had to sleep to give his body time to replenish it’s thirst for energy that he pulled from his surroundings unconsciously.

A quickstep--which was a misnomer as it involved more than one step--was when a Slayer rushed an opponent while bursting their energy. To the Slayer’s opponent, the Slayer appeared to teleport but, in reality, the Slayer just ran extremely fast. Quickstepping wasn’t easy though, as it required a fair amount of concentration and, depending on the distance, it could drain a Slayer’s well very quickly. Bursting also only enhanced the body, not the mind, so the Slayer had to predict when he would stop ahead of time as well as how he wanted to be positioned once the burst ended. All of that got considered into how long the burst should be. Celia had told him it was very much like throwing a ball. A number of things had to be factored ahead of time or there was a very real possibility to over or under shoot… or in the Slayer’s case, slam into his opponent or come up short and forced to adjust a poorly timed swing.

John had quarter turned his new sword when he’d raised his guard, the flat of the blade facing the blademaster and, realizing the man had quickstepped in front of him, he extended the blade to its full length as fast as he could, creating an improvised shield with it’s massive width.

John’s arm vibrated violently and he had to use his other hand to prevent his sword from getting away from him. His shoulders protested as his feet slid back across the smooth wood by a full three steps. The strike would have broken most swords, but their swords weren’t most swords.

Bloody hell, I’m dueling against a Slayer blademaster! The unhelpful realization slapped him across the face. After fighting Celia, who was considered weak for a Slayer, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last the next bout.

I’m going to have to use every dirty trick I know if I’m going to come out of this with any of my Vanguard pride left.

Shrinking his slider so he could see, he saw Quinn preparing to lunge at him again. Making a snap decision, he turned his body away from the blurring sword point, letting it pass unchallenged, and reached for his gladius slider with his offhand as he slapped the passing needle-like blade to the ground with his massive sword. By the time he grounded the sword tip, John had his gladius freed and sent it straight at the blademaster’s heart.

As if expecting it, Quinn raised his arm and turned his body away from the blade.

John’s blade scraped passed his uniform, just under his armpit, and missed skin.

Immediately John regretted the decision.

The Caprian pressed his arm back down, trapping John’s gladius between his arm and rib cage, before twisting away from him and abandoning his dueling sword. John’s gladius broke free from his grip and he couldn’t recover his other blade fast enough to strike Quinn.

If he’d thrusted the blade horizontally instead of vertically, the Slayer wouldn’t have been able to trap his blade without harming himself. He’d been too focused on getting it unsheathed as quickly as possible.

The gladius shrank back to the size of a dagger the moment it broke contact with John’s fingers. Without breaking eye contact, Quinn smoothly grabbed the dagger and freed it from it’s improvised sheath.

John eyed the blademaster cautiously as he gripped his sword with both hands.

Quinn leaned forward and John caught the tell-tale sign of a quickstep. Immediately he struck out--even though he was no where near the man--and miraculously connected with a surprised Quinn.

Locked in combat, John took a step forward and tried to push the man back, but the surprise faded quickly from the blademaster and he angled John’s push to the side and their swords grinded along the edges until Quinn shrank his gladius down to a dagger and bypassed John’s guard completely with the small blade.

Eyes wide in surprise--and frankly, pissed at himself for not thinking of that tactic himself--John did the only thing he could think of as he watched the blade shoot towards his neck. He threw himself with all his might into the vambrace and the shield shot outward to a full size towershield.

Quinn’s arm was caught by the underside of the shield and the man dropped to his knees like a sack of potatoes as the towershield slammed the Slayers arm towards the hardwood floor. In a last ditch effort, Quinn extended the dagger outward and, to John’s horror, he nearly took his family jewels in the process. But to his relief, the blade passed harmlessly through his legs just before the towershield rammed into the floor.

With the blademaster’s arm pinned, John pressed his advantage and brought his sword down, aiming for the man’s shoulder.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed and an instant later John found himself airborne.

He had just enough time to process the sudden turn of events before he was driven into the far wall with enough force to put a crater into the stucco and the underlying stonewall.

John wheezed as all the air said “f u” to his lungs.

Dazed and confused, he stayed suspended above the ground,lungs burning, until he had the wherewithal to shrug his shoulders out of the crater. Which wasn’t a smart idea. His legs buckled beneath him the moment he hit the floor and for the second time all air escaped him in a rush... just before his head rebounded off the floor like a melon.

Blinking back the stars, he used his hands to try and lift himself upright but the room spun haphazardly.

“Whoa,” John said, his arms flailing wildly before falling back on his tail bone.

Surprisingly his tailbone injury was the one pain that hurt the most.

Blinking through the pain and the curtain of dust that still clung to the air, he spotted Quinn on the other side of the room rubbing the arm John had pinned to the floor.

He looked… amused?

Wordlessly, the blademaster wiped his neck and it took John far longer than it should have to realize he was signalling him.

Reaching up, John rubbed his neck and felt wetness. Pulling his fingers back he saw blood.

And then it dawned on him.

He drew first blood, he won.

“I’m very sorry, Master Slayer Quinn Tekal. I didn’t feel it,” John said, lowering his eyes and feeling shame.

Continuing a fight after first blood being drawn was considered a great dishonor, no matter the land you were in.

“I believe you,” Quinn said, walking towards him. “When did Celia teach you the slider?”

John raised his eyes, and felt the pain that had spiderwebbed across his back, legs, hips, and head start to ease as it was replaced with the burning sensation he now associated with healing.

“Yesterday, sir.”

Quinn’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“The Red Guard must have improved their training quite considerably over the past fifty years.“

When he reached John, he held his hand out and John took it.

“You’ve got great instincts, my boy, and you adapt quickly,” the Caprian said, helping him up. “Even handicapped, you forced me into bursting. You might even be a match for some of the Alpha’s already. I’m very impressed.”

Did a blademaster just complement me?

“Thank you sir,” John said, feeling flushed by the praise.

“Come find me after you learn how to burst and manipulate your field. There’s a lot I can teach you.”

Sensing a dismissal, John bowed his head deeply.

“Thank you sir. I’d be honored.”

When John raised his head back up, he found his gladius being offered back to him.

“Call me Quinn. And keep the Exorcist. She’s found a good home. Grab that lodestone sheath over there for her on your way out. She will need it.”

John blinked in surprise.

“Th-Thank you, sir!”

“Quinn.”

“Yes s--Quinn.”

The Caprian gave him a small smile that was uncomfortably close to one of Celia’s “you’re-going-to-regret-this” smiles.

“And don’t thank me yet.”

John swallowed, and he tried to ignore the uneasy feeling that began to grow in the pit of his stomach. Seeing the look on John’s face, Quinn roared with laughter before he turned and walked back out of the room through the hidden door.

Feeling shocked to the point of being numb, John walked over to the weapons rack and grabbed the sheath Quinn had pointed to. Pulling the leather straps apart, John recognized the straps used for an over-the-shoulder sheath but was puzzled when he didn’t actually see a sheath. All he could find was a series of black round stones embedded into a large piece of leather in a tight cluster.

That looks like a…

And then Quinn’s words finally sank through his shocked state of mind.

A lodestone was a stone that was naturally magnetized. John knew of only one spot in the entire Empire where lodestones could be found, and the bluebloods controlled the area. Saying that the stones were rare and expensive was an understatement. But he’d never seen anyone use it as a sheath before because, rarity aside, it wasn’t very practical. It’s powerful attraction to steel would have made pulling it free challenging, especially if the weapon was needed in an emergency. It would have taken a lot of effort to detach it but, once again, John realized that problem didn’t apply to a Slayer.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he moved the Exorcist towards the black stones and immediately lost his grip when the sword closed the short gap on it’s own accord, smacking the stones with a metallic ring. To John’s amazement, the dagger immediately lost its edge the moment it touched the lodestones and it took on a new duller sheen. With the new color, Tekal’s crest appeared, etched into the blade itself, closest to the guard.

It was as if the blade had suddenly became dormant.

Touching the blade, his suspicions were confirmed. He couldn’t extend it. Pulling the blade free with an easy tug, the sword instantly gained back it’s edge and it’s pitch black color.

Extending it slowly, John started walking towards the door.

Interesting. I wonder…

He traded the Exorcist for his gladius and held it up to the lodestone. Like the Exorcist, it snapped to the stones and then lost it’s edge and color. The crest of Tekal also appeared at the base of the blade.

Fascinating.

Seeing that the Exorcist couldn’t fit completely in his gladius’s sheath, he swapped sliders. He’d just attached the Exorcist back to the lodestone sheath when he ran into Celia out in the hall.

Her eyes went straight to the Exorcist in his hand, and then her face darkened.

Correction, John thought with a sense of dread. That would be her murderous glare.

She grabbed his arm and yanked him across the hall and into another side door.

Slamming the door shut behind them, John heard a barrier snap into place as all sounds around them were silenced.

Turning on her heels, she waved a finger at him as she screamed, “You fucking idiot! Are all Vanguards dense meat heads or did I just pick the dumbest one?!”

“What did I--”

John groaned as the error to his ways came to him.

She wasn’t really one of the weakest Slayers. It was part of her cover, so she could become a Tracker and have the freedom. The same freedom she’d been trying to get him.

Hell, for all he knew she was one of the strongest ones.

“That’s right,” she roared at him, seeing the understanding in his eyes. “Fucking. Imbecile!”

Then she pointed at the Exorcist. “And not only did you have to show the fucking off, you went and fucking impressed the bloody fucking leader of the fucking Alpha’s!”

“Oh,” he said lamely.

It was all he could say.

“Let me guess, he’s offered to teach you after you learn from the other Master Slayers?”

Seeing the look in his eyes, she threw her hands up and roared her frustrations at the air.

It’s your fault for not telling me to hold back, John suddenly thought in annoyance. But he’d long since learned to keep a cool head in front of an emotionally unstable person. Especially one that had both the means and the motivation to kill him. Arguing with her would only make matters worse so aloud he said, “Don’t worry about it. This is my problem, not yours.”

She rounded on him, her glare smouldering, and she opened her mouth to argue.

He raised an eyebrow expectantly, and she faltered.

Slowly, the heat in her eyes died until she eventually broke eye contact with a loud sigh.

“You’re right. It’s not my problem.”

“Beside,” John said slowly, as if afraid to poke the angry bear again. “From what you’ve told me about the Alpha’s, you can’t just be good at the sword. You have to be good at energy manipulation and Hellhound hunting. So this is still salvageable.”

Celia pushed a stray strand of hair back behind her ear and let out loud exhale through her nose. When her blue eyes found his again, they were much cooler.

“Hide that sword and don’t tell anyone he gave it to you,” she said in a controlled voice. “Quinn is an eccentric loner who doesn’t really have any friends, so chances are no one will know about this. Joining the Alpha’s requires a majority vote from the rest of the Alpha pack, so don’t buddy up to any more Alpha’s and you should be alright.”

Seeing her calming down, John decided to roll the dice with his next question, which was the real reason for her short temper.

“So... you’re my mentor?”

“Fucking Priscilla,” Celia breathed.

To John’s relief, she didn’t explode. On the contrary, she did something she’d never done before: she explain herself.

“I’d planned on bringing you into Ghourd via a portal from Kalan. My contact in the Red Guard would have vouched that you were sick and had been unable to travel, which is a rare but known issue that sometimes occurs when Awakening. The sickness can last for weeks, which would have accounted for our time together. But because Priscilla caught us practicing, I had to tell her that I was giving you some training before we got to Tekal. She saw that as “taking the initiative”, making my life… difficult. She thinks she’s doing me a bloody favor. Gods, that woman.”

Celia rubbed her temple as if she were getting a headache. Not that Slayers could get headaches.

“Just… from now on fail miserably with the next two Master Slayers. Kill Teams won’t last forever and when it goes back to tracking and hunting, you have to be a Tracker if you’re ever going to figure out why the Hounds haven’t tried breaching Ce’l. I suspect it has to do with the border between Kalian and Ce’l, but coming up with theories is easy. You have to be there to investigate and confirm.”

John nodded at the logic. Seeing a Hellhound first hand, he knew the Hounds should have easily cleared the cliffs that separated Kalian and Ce’l… or at least have tried for the Grimwall. He knew men that were stationed at the Wall and they hadn’t ever mentioned anything about the Hounds before.

And then it dawned on John. The spymaster had been right to wait for someone like John to come along for this assignment. Celia couldn’t have investigated the mystery even if she’d wanted to. She was a Ghourd and Ghourdians in Kalian raised suspicions, even as a Slayer. Which meant she would have had to sneak into Kalian to investigate and there was only so much that could be done under the cloak of night. She would also have had to have a valid reason to leave her territory each time she left.

That bit of knowledge made John suspect there weren’t any Kalian’s who were spies for the Empire. It also made him wonder how in the hell the Empire had ever recruited a Ghourdian

They had to have discovered the portal, and used it to get to Ghourd to recruit her. The mage who’d helped me escape probably works for the spymaster, ergo the spymaster has the means to get there after some trial and error. But if they’d been able to do that, why couldn’t they have sent a Ce’lian to Kalian as a spy? They shouldn’t have had to wait for me to come along. It can’t be because they don’t know the portal codes because they have Celia. Unless the portals are in a public place, guarded. Or… could she be holding back on the portal codes, to protect herself? That sounds like her, paranoid and untrusting to a fault. But surely the mage helping the spymaster wouldn’t have stopped trying different codes. Unless, of course, Celia told them not to, lest they accidentally dial Tekal or, worse, the wastelands. Which would then put her back into a position of power from a negotiation standpoint.

Following that logic, John wondered what had been promised to Celia for her to take him in under her wing. He knew the Ce’lian people went to great--even extreme--lengths to protect their way of life. John knew this because it was what he firmly believed in. It was a common belief that bounded all Ce’lians together, and the Hellhounds posed a serious threat to their way of life if they ever decided to enter C’el.

And just because the Hounds hadn’t ever made it into the Empire didn’t mean that they never would. Whatever the reason was, they had to know it. Ignorance wasn’t a trait the Ce’lian people believed in. In the desert, ignorance got you killed.

“I have to make arrangements now,” Celia said, interrupting his thoughts. “Go to your room and wait for me. The Master Slayer’s are busy right now helping coordinate the Kill Team’s logistics, so it’s a free day for the novices.”

Celia made for the door but when her hand reached for the door handle, she paused for a fraction of a second.

She whispered something under her breath, and then she was gone.

Voices from the hallways outside suddenly bombarded John’s ears as the barrier fell, all trying to erase the last remnants of the word she’d breathed. It had been spoken so softly that he wasn’t even sure he’d heard what he thought he’d heard.

Did she just apologize?

Chapter 9: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2013978-The-Hellhound-War-Ch9