Chương 90: Chapter 056 Send Them To Tartarus (Part 1)

Dawn crept across the sky like spilt ink fading to grey. They reached a narrow valley where mist curled low across the ground and the trees thinned; rocks replaced roots as the forest fell away to shale and stone. Half an hour later, a wide river came into view. It tore through the valley like a blade, jagged black rocks jutting through the foam. The sound was deafening; the raging water sped by, furious and uncrossable. Jack took one look and shook his head.

"No way." Cain dismounted, sweat running down his face.

"Back along the edge!" he shouted over the roar.

"We follow it west!" He checked the condition of both horses before remounting "They'll need a rest soon." They rode along a crumbling path; the horses slipped and stumbled. After ten minutes, the river forced them up into a series of steep switchbacks at the foot of a towering rock face. Cain's horse slipped on a loose stone. He caught its mane, steadying it. Then they heard it, the horns again. Louder with the accompaniment of barking dogs and hooves striking stone.

"Fuck! They're here." Jack turned. Down in the mist, blue cloaks moved like ghosts and silver blades glinted in the light. [Assassin's Intuition] triggered over a dozen times. Cain looked to the cliff.

"We climb. Ditch the horses." Jack looked to the river.

"Or jump in and hope we don't get shredded on the rocks." Cain didn't respond. The river was suicidal. Jack considered the options. None was good. They both looked at the horses. They were trembling, exhausted, and almost done. They looked at the ridge. Way too high to climb… they weren't mountain goats. Jack's hand found the hilt of his dagger, and he felt comfort from the rough grip. He met Cain's eyes.

"If we fight, we might kill a few before they get us." Cain nodded.

"Better to die on our feet like men. It's been an honour fighting with you, Jack the scribe." He patted him on the shoulder. Jack grunted at the shoulder pat.

"Likewise, Cain. You're a good man." He drew his dagger. Cain unsheathed his sword, the blade gleaming in the morning light. The first of the hounds broke through the mist. Jack's jaw clenched, his hand drifting to the scrolls tucked into his breast pocket. He still had two [Frost Breath] and two [Fireball] scrolls. In his other pockets, he had four [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls, smoke bombs, and blinding powders. He also had his new pseudo skills, his bow, and his dagger. And at his side…

a trusted ally who was pissed off. The horn blew again. Cain spoke, his voice low and steady.

"We make a stand. We kill as many of the bastards as we can. Send the fuckers to Tartarus." Jack and Cain moved up the slope searching for a more defensible position. The mountain's edge narrowed to a jagged shelf of stone, no wider than a corridor. On one side, a sheer cliff face, and on the other, a steep drop into a churning river. Below, the hounds howled and barked like they could summon death itself. The path ahead twisted into switchbacks and steep ridges, slick with broken shale.

They stood on one such ledge, ten paces wide, the perfect place to make their final stand. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Cain slapped the horses. They stumbled uphill, trembling and half-dead, but moving.

"If we live, we'll need them. If we die… well, not our problem." Cain grinned. Jack gave a weak smile at his optimism. He knew they weren't getting out of this alive. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. I've failed you again. He thought about his family as he prepared to die. He wondered what they'd do later today. They've probably been up all night worrying that I didn't come home. The guilt burned deeper than his exhaustion. Below, the enemy had gathered.

Two dozen guards, mostly beastkin spearmen and warriors, armoured in boiled leather, chainmail, and steel-reinforced jerkins. A couple had bows strapped to their backs. Two carried nets and truncheons. A dozen hound handlers stood at the rear, the deer-hounds and lymer hounds thrashing and barking like they could already taste blood on the wind. Jack could feel it in the pit of his gut; the hounds wanted their well-earned pound of flesh. Three older nobles stood behind the guards.

The other nine older blood mages, including Viscount Tides, were not present. Baron Greaves' face was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back, as if he were awaiting a lecture to begin. To his left, Baron Argil, trembling with rage, eyes red with fury. To his right, Baroness Vampese, lips curled in a twisted half-smile like she was watching a favourite play. And behind them, young Fenton stood tall, stiff, and glaring.

His blond hair was wild, his sword was drawn, and his eyes were locked onto Jack like a predator with an ancient grudge.

"It might be just me… but I believe they might be a tad upset about something." Jack forced a smile.

"Do you think we can talk our way out of this? Invite them to a wine and cheese tasting, perhaps?" Cain gave a hearty laugh, the sound echoing against the mountainside.

"Maybe if we had a few barrels of dwarven ale, but alas, we're all out." Jack chuckled.

"Looks like they're underestimating us. They're only sending two dozen well-trained guards and four blood mages. This will be a piece of cake." Cain smiled.

"Let's make them regret that decision. I'll die happy if I take one noble with me." Jack nodded. The joking around was helping calm his frayed nerves. I'll die happy if we kill Greaves. It might just save my family. Deep down, he knew there was little chance Greaves was going to die today. Not with a [Pseudo Mage: Enhanced Shield], and Gods knows how many enchanted items protecting him. He could hit the Baron with his four remaining [Frost Breath] and [Fireball] spell scrolls while Greaves stood still.

Only to find he had multiple protective enchantments that negated the attacks. It was a certainty that the older nobles could absorb at least one of all common mage spells before becoming vulnerable. A bronze messenger beetle buzzed up the valley and landed in Greaves' palm. He whispered into its pulsing blue shell and released it. The drone departed back the way it came. Jack cast [Assassin's Mark] on Baron Greaves, and the noble spun from watching the drone fly away to stare at Jack. He smiled.

Jack gained nothing from [Assassin's Mark].

"Fuck!" He tried casting [Assassin's Mark] on Baroness Vampese and Baron Argil with the same result. The two nobles stared at him, and [Assassin's Intuition] flared.

"I can't mark the older nobles." Cain checked the grip of his sword.

"They can still bleed. That's all that matters." Jack nodded and counted his arrows; twenty-four left.

"They'll send a small group," Cain said.

"Test us. Maybe try to take us alive. I fight until I die."

"We fight until we die," Jack added. Jack offered Cain his hand, and the large adventurer took it. He lowered his head as he prayed to the deity who personified inevitable doom.

"I pray Moros, dark-born son of Nyx, the shadow that walks ahead of death, watches over you today. May he grant you the strength to face what must be, and the clarity to see the thread as it nears its end. Walk with open eyes into your fate, and let no fear stain your final hour." Cain towered over Jack with a huge grin.

"You're full of surprises, Jack the scribe." He patted him on the shoulder as the prayer ended.

"Let's kill some bastard nobles and meet our fates head-on." Jack almost buckled from the heavy shoulder pat. He really doesn't know his own damn strength. Six guards began the climb. A wolfkin with a spear. A tigerkin with a net. A hawkkin with curved knives. A human with a hooked blade. A foxkin with a sword. And a towering bearkin carrying a club as thick as Jack's torso, banded with iron rings. As they climbed, the taunts began.

"Hope you brought clean trousers, boys," the tigerkin called up.

"We're not taking prisoners who piss themselves." Cain laughed.

"She's funny. I always like a bit of pre-fight banter."

"Save me the pretty one." The hawkkin licked her blade.

"The young one with the little dagger." Jack stiffened. Cain laughed. The bearkin let out a roar and beat his chest with his club.

"I'm gonna wear your spine like a belt, boy!" Cain chuckled.

"They talk too much."

"They're trying to shake us." Jack's hand trembled on the bowstring. The guards climbed the slope with caution, like they were hunting dangerous prey. But Jack could see it in their eyes that they didn't expect much resistance from him. Of course, they'd be wary of Cain, but not him. They expected to make sport of the weak scribe. You'll regret underestimating me.