Mercy At Our Term

Taldris Nox'Ryn

The warehouse creaked as Taldris slipped inside, dusk now fully fallen. Shadows clung to the corners, stretching like half-formed thoughts. Dust stirred beneath her boots as she crossed the broken floorboards. The others were already there, Alric leaning against a support beam, Kael crouched over a dented crate, fiddling with something metallic, Brina seated on a barrel with her hood pulled back, and Caelen standing with arms crossed, posture tense.

Alric looked up as she entered. “You’re back,” he said. “Find anything?”

She shook her head, pulling off her gloves. “No. And if you ask me, I doubt we’ll find much in this part of the city. If it’s anything like Ironwood, they’re not keeping whatever it is in Zadale. What about you lot? Any luck?”

“Apart from Alric getting swindled by some vendor?” Kael said with a smirk. “Maybe. I think we’ve got a lead.”

Brina spoke next, her voice thoughtful. “There’s something strange about all this. If Zadale knew what it was building, you’d think the entire city would be locked down tighter. But no one’s actively hunting us. No bounty, no patrols asking questions. It’s like they didn’t even bother reporting that Lucian spies slipped in.”

“Too proud to admit it?” Kael offered.

“So what are you saying?” Caelen asked, arms crossed. “We did get recognized by some soldiers. They knew we weren’t from around here.”

Brina glanced toward the boarded-up windows. “Maybe Zadale doesn’t know what it’s building. Maybe someone inside the city is doing this in secret. Someone with enough power to hide it.”

Alric started to speak, but Taldris cut in. “That shouldn't matter; we have to find out about whatever it is, despite whoever's building it. So let’s focus. What leads do we have?”

Kael leaned back against one of the crates, arms folded. “Alright, I’ll start. I got a name out of some drunk officer in a tavern, who said there's a shipment moving out of the Northern Ward in two days. Military escort. The destination wasn’t clear, but he mentioned something about a ‘new staging ground.’ Didn’t sound like a typical supply run.”

“And the drunk didn’t notice you pressing him for information?” Taldris asked, arching a brow.

“I bought him two more drinks,” Kael said with a shrug. “Man would’ve told me his childhood traumas if I’d asked nicely.”

Brina stepped forward. “We kept an eye on the High Councillor’s Chambers and the buildings around it. We split up after a while. I talked to a few workers, but most of them didn’t know much."

Caelen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Same, I heard some military official turned up dead, but nothing on shipments. Couldn't press too hard without drawing attention.”

“Well, at least we’ve got something,” Taldris murmured, though her gaze drifted toward the door. For a heartbeat, something gnawed at her, a faint prickle at the back of her neck, like the feeling of being watched. Almost similar to the tavern, but she doubted it. She was the last one here, and she’d made sure no one followed her. She was sure of it.

Caelen opened his mouth to speak, “We'll follow Kael's lead. If this shipment really is—”

The words were cut short by the deafening crack of splintering wood.

The old door exploded inward.

Guards, Taldris counted ten, maybe eleven, stormed into the storehouse, armored boots thundering across the stone floor. Their red-and-steel uniforms gleamed in the lantern light, faces obscured by iron helms, halberds, and shortblades drawn. Behind them, a commanding officer barked a sharp order, his voice slicing through the chaos.

"By the order of Lord Varnholt, drop your weapons and raise your hands!”

Dust hung in the air from the shattered doorway as silence fell, just for a moment, like the pause before a storm.

Then everything erupted into motion.

Taldris didn’t hesitate.

The moment the door burst open and the shout rang through the storehouse, her instincts took over. She dove sideways, just as a crossbow bolt thunked into the wooden beam where her head had been a heartbeat earlier.

“Scatter!” Alric’s voice rang out, sharp and practiced.

Her fingers curled around the hilt of her shortsword as she rolled behind a pile of crates. Dust kicked up around her as the others broke into motion, Kael vaulting behind a broken cart, Brina vanishing into the shadows at the edge of the storehouse, Caelen drawing his glaive with a low curse.

Through the gaps in the crates, Taldris saw the guards fanning out like a tide of iron, their crimson armour catching the light. Two moved toward her position, flanking with practiced ease. The officer who barked the first command stood at the back, hand resting on a bastard sword at his belt.

Focus.

Taldris muttered a sharp syllable under her breath, flicking her fingers in a tight arc. A shimmer of heat distorted the air around her, an illusion, a duplicate image of herself darting left.

The real Taldris lunged right.

One guard swung wide at the illusion, blade slicing nothing but air. The second turned too late as Taldris was already within range. Her blade flashed, low and precise, slicing across the inside of his thigh. The man cried out, stumbling back as blood welled up.

She ducked another swing and kicked him hard in the knee, sending him crashing into a broken table.

Then the shimmer broke. Another guard spotted her, raised his weapon.

A blur of steel swept past her, Alric’s scimitar. He parried the incoming strike and shoved the guard back, planting himself at her side.

“You alright?” he asked, breath tight. "Like I told you before, it's your guard; you're showing too many openings."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She nodded, eyes already scanning for her next target.

From the corner of her eye, Taldris caught a blur of motion, Kael vaulting up a stack of crates with practiced ease. His boots barely made a sound as he leapt, grabbing hold of a hanging beam near the upper rafters. In one smooth motion, he nocked an arrow to his bowstring and drew. It shimmered like one of the magical arrows he'd picked up at the depot before their mission.

He set the arrow loose.

Mid-flight, it split, one became three, a sharp flare of magic trailing each shaft. Two of the arrows found their marks. One Zadalyn guard was thrown backward against the wall, while the other fell to one knee, the arrow piercing clean through an opening in the armour. Before he could rise, Caelen was already on him. His glaive swept through the air with brutal precision, the sharp blade catching the guard’s neck in a clean, merciless arc.

As Caelen’s blade sang and Kael’s arrows split the air, Taldris darted through the fray like a shadow. The next guard came at her with a wide, reckless swing. She ducked low beneath the blade, boots skidding across the dusty stone as she came up inside his guard.

Her shortsword lashed out, but the guard managed to block it with the haft of his axe. Steel rang against steel. He shoved forward, trying to overpower her, but Taldris twisted to the side, slipping free.

She stepped in again, faster this time, her blade feinted high, then came low, scoring a sharp cut across the back of the guard’s knee. He roared in pain, staggered, and swung wildly in panic. She sidestepped with a breath’s space to spare, then struck clean, her sword sliding between the plates beneath his arm.

He dropped with a grunt, his axe clattering to the floor. She was improving; Alric's training was coming in handy.

Taldris didn’t stop moving. Her eyes swept the room, searching for her next threat. Everyone was in motion, Kael still above, losing arrows with practiced precision; Caelen carving a path with his glaive; Alric dueling two at once near the far wall. Even Brina was doing what she could, pressing herself against the crates, hands trembling, lips whispering spells to mend as many wounds as she could. After all, she was a healer, not a fighter; her strength was in keeping others standing, not in striking down foes.

The clang of steel was everywhere, loud, sharp, chaotic. Taldris pivoted as another Zadalyn guard lunged at her, sword raised high. She caught the blade on her shortsword, sparks flaring at the clash, then swept her free hand upward in a practiced motion.

A burst of shimmering light flared from her palm, another illusion spell, blurring the man’s vision for a heartbeat too long. It was all she needed. She followed with the same technique she used before, her sword swept across his thigh, slicing through the leather bindings and dropping him to one knee with a cry. She stepped forward to finish it.

But she was slow.

The guard’s blade lashed out in a final, desperate arc, slicing clean across her ribs. Pain exploded along her side as blood began to seep through her cloak, warm and sudden. Taldris gasped, stumbling back a step, her free hand flying to the wound.

She wasn’t built for this kind of fight. Before she chose to wield this sword, Taldris had been a sorcerer, trained to keep her enemies at a distance, not trade blows up close. Her armor, while elegant and light for movement, left gaps a soldier’s gear wouldn’t have. Gaps the blade had found.

It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. But it hurt like hell.

Damn it. She’d pushed too hard, gotten overconfident.

Gritting her teeth, she caught her footing and forced herself upright, one hand still pressed to the gash at her side. The guard, groaning, was dragging himself up with his sword planted in the floorboards. She could already see him shaking off the stun, his face twisted in rage.

No time.

Her fingers sparked with flickering energy as she raised her for another spell.

The flame bolt cracked through the air with a flash of pale orange light, striking the guard square in the chest. The impact hurled him backwards into a stack of crates. A spell she'd used on the bugbear as well.

But the soldier got back up, groaning, pushing himself back up.

Taldris exhaled sharply. Her offensive magic still lacked the bite she needed. Illusions were her strength; direct combat spells, less so. She’d need more training to change that. For now, it was back to the blade.

Another soldier lunged from the side, his blade cutting through the haze of dust and smoke. Taldris pivoted just in time to parry, steel scraping against steel, the force jarring up her arm. The first guard, wounded but not down, rushed again.

She shifted her stance, using his momentum against him. One twist of the wrist, one well-angled strike, her blade sank cleanly between the seams of his armor. He gasped, staggered, and dropped to the ground.

There was no time to breathe.

The second soldier was already closing in, heavier, broader, and faster than she expected. His sword arced toward her head. Taldris kicked off the ground and leapt, boots thudding against a nearby crate as she scrambled up onto the stack. Her wound throbbed from the strain, but Taldris gritted her teeth and stayed balanced on the crates, her breath sharp in her throat. Blood still trickled beneath her cloak, warmth sliding against her ribs, but she kept her eyes forward, alert.

She leapt lightly to a higher crate, keeping the soldier below in sight. He didn’t move; he knew better than to climb, for at that exact moment, Taldris would have the perfect opening to strike. From up here, she had a view over the whole storehouse, and what she saw sent a chill down her spine.

Kael had taken up a new position above, his bow still singing through the air, one arrow loosed, then another. Caelen, however, was locked in a brutal duel with the Zadalyn commander, their weapons clashing in a flurry of motion. He looked injured, sluggish. Then suddenly—

Steel sank into Caelen’s side.

Taldris sucked in a breath. The glaive clattered from his hands as he fell to one knee, blood blooming beneath him like ink in water. He gritted his teeth and tried to stand, failing once, then again, before finally half-rising, staggering.

Then the commander raised a hand, and the Zadalyn soldiers halted.

“Look at your comrade,” the commander said, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Surrender now, and I will spare him. Refuse, and each of you will suffer the same fate.”

For a heartbeat, everything paused.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

The only sound was Caelen’s ragged breathing, and the faint drip of blood hitting stone.

The commander stood poised, sword angled toward Caelen’s exposed neck, its tip gleaming with blood already drawn. His eyes remained fixed, cold and unwavering.

Taldris shifted her weight, still crouched atop the crates, and her gaze flicked to Alric. The others did the same.

In the end, he was the leader of this operation, the one everyone looked at right now.

Alric met each of their eyes, then slowly, deliberately, raised both hands. A heartbeat later, his scimitar slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Kael snapped, disbelief twisting his voice. He still had an arrow nocked, tension carved across his stance. “We can’t surrender now—”

“Lower your weapon,” Alric said firmly. “I won’t let one of us die here.”

"They're gonna kill us despite that."

"I said, lower your weapons." This time his voice was louder, sharper.

Kael stared at him for a breath longer. Taldris could see his expression, furious, uncertain, but the strain in his draw eased. The arrow was lowered, then the bow.

The commander smiled, a slow, satisfied curl of his mouth. “You made a smart choice,” he said. “Zadale doesn’t need more blood tonight.”

Alric’s jaw tightened. “Brina, Taldris, get Caelen.”

Brina moved the moment the words left his mouth, sprinting across the floor toward the wounded warrior. Taldris jumped down, her side aching from the wound beneath her cloak, and followed without hesitation.

Caelen was barely conscious, coughing weakly, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Brina was already at work, hands glowing faintly as she pressed cloth and spell to the wound, whispering under her breath. Taldris crouched beside her, keeping one hand on her blade, the other steadying Caelen’s weight.

“We’ll cooperate,” Alric said, voice sharp as steel, “but on our terms.”

The commander let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

Around them, the guards tightened their grip on their weapons, steel rising, but they didn’t advance. They waited, uncertain, eyes flicking between their commander and the Lucians, as if expecting a trap.

Alric stepped toward Caelen, dropping to one knee beside him. His eyes scanned the wound quickly, then he leaned in close and murmured something too low for the others to hear. Taldris gave a faint nod, her jaw clenched.

The commander raised a hand. “Cuff them.”

Alric stood, turned his gaze to the approaching guards, and slowly extended his wrists for the cuffs.