Chapter 46
Merlin
The air in the alley was suffocating—a rancid
blend of damp stone and decaying refuse, a stark contrast to the perfumed
boulevards of Avinnois. Shadows pooled deep between the towering buildings,
their jagged forms shifting in the unsteady glow of distant lanterns.
My heart pounded against my ribs, my thoughts a
tempest of doubt and calculation. Had Selene noticed? If she had, surely she
would have said something—wouldn’t she? The gnoll’s disguise had been
convincing, but magic always left traces. Aether clung to things, insidious and
lingering, like oil on water. Had she caught the distortion, that telltale
shimmer at the edges of reality?
Could she perceive it as I did—a mirage wavering
at the seams of the world? Or was it more? A signature woven into the very
fabric of the spell, a marker meant to deceive all but the most attuned? Had
she been seeing through the illusion, or merely sensing the residue of its
craft?
A guttural snarl sliced through my thoughts,
dragging me harshly back to the present.
The gnoll loomed before me, half-shrouded in
darkness, its broad snout wrinkled in a silent growl. Its fur bristled, matted
where steel had kissed flesh in past battles. Yellowed fangs gleamed as its
lips curled.
“Give it back to us...” The words slithered
through the air, thick and wet, a voice never meant for common speech.
Selene had growled low in her throat, a sharp,
animalistic hiss—like a fox cornered with no escape. Her fingers twitched at
her side, poised to unsheathe nails, but we were outnumbered. My pulse hammered
as I tightened my grip around the bundle in my arms. The baby stirred, its tiny
weight a fragile contrast to the looming threat.
“Oh-ho… what do we have here?” The second gnoll’s
voice dripped with amusement, thick and slurred around jagged teeth.
The first stepped forward, its beady eyes
gleaming in the dim alley light. “Well, look at that, boys…” It sniffed the
air, the wet, guttural sound sending a chill down my spine. “Smells like
money.”
A third let out a wheezing chuckle. “That fox
girl’s easily worth thirty platinum,” it mused, tapping the rusted edge of its
blade against a clawed finger.
Realization slammed into me. These weren’t
adventurers. Their armor was mismatched, their weapons crude but well-worn. No
guild insignias. No sigils of rank.
Slavers.
The air thickened with tension as they closed in,
their hulking forms blocking our only exit. Selene shifted closer, muscles
taut, breath steadying—ready to fight.
Then, without warning, one of the gnolls—the
fourth in line—dropped.
No sound. No struggle. One moment standing, the
next a heap on the cobblestones.
The others froze.
Then came the sound—sharp, unnatural. A sickening
sizzle. The acrid scent of burning fur filled the alley. Arcane energy crackled
in the air.
Someone had fired an arcane arrow.
Gnoll number three crumpled mid-step, his body
twisting unnaturally before he hit the ground with a dull thud. A shadow
moved—too fast, too fluid—before the second could react. He had barely managed
a strangled, “Merlin—” before something sleek and silent pierced his throat.
I caught the glint of the weapons as they
withdrew—daggers, black as the void, pulsing with residual energy. Shade magic.
The wounds were clean, precise. No wasted movement. Whoever wielded them was an
artist of death.
Selene, once rigid with defiance, stood
slack-jawed, eyes wide with something I had never seen in her before.
“Pretty,” she whispered.
“What?” I turned to her, half-expecting madness
to have taken hold.
“She’s pretty,” Selene murmured, her voice
distant, dreamlike, as if she were seeing something beyond the flickering
torchlight.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
She…? My breath caught.
Selene wasn’t just seeing the figure—she was
seeing everything. The aether around us unraveled in waves of raw information,
and my sister, ever the oddity, read it like an open book.
I, too, saw the shadowed form weaving through the
darkness, but to me, she was little more than a shimmering specter, a whisper
of movement. To Selene, she was whole. Clear as day.
And she was beautiful.
The woman—Merlin, as the gnolls had called
her—emerged from the gloom, her presence cutting through the alley like a
blade. In one hand, she held a bloodstained leather bag.
“Finally caught up with you,” she said, shaking
the bag with a smirk. “Your… crew says hi.”
Merlin was unlike any elf I had ever seen. Her
skin, luminous in the dim alley light, bore the ethereal glow of her High Elf
ancestry, yet beneath it lay the shadowed undertones of Dark Elf blood. She was
a living contradiction—light and dark woven into a single, striking form.
But it was her hair that first caught my eye. A
cascade of raven black, thick and lustrous, yet styled with a warrior’s
precision. The sides and back were shaved close, the fade so sharp it framed
her cheekbones like the edge of a blade. The longer strands were swept in a
dramatic comb-over, spilling down one side of her neck like ink over porcelain.
Severe yet elegant—a perfect reflection of what she was. Battle-mage.
Spell-sword. Killer. Scholar.
Her eyes, silver-blue and deep-set beneath
elegantly arched brows, gleamed with an unsettling intensity, as though they
had seen too much, learned too much. One moment, they could be warm, almost
teasing; the next, cold enough to freeze the marrow in my bones. Her lips, full
and well-shaped, carried the ghost of a smirk, as if she held a secret no one
else could ever grasp.
She moved like liquid shadow—effortless, silent,
predatory. The black, elastic leather of her attire hugged her form, built for
speed and precision. No wasted fabric, no unnecessary weight. Silver clasps
caught the light, tiny flourishes of elven craftsmanship hidden in the folds.
At her throat rested a single obsidian pendant, a
relic of unknown power.
Merlin—was both elegance and lethality, a weapon
honed to perfection.
Merlin''s voice danced through the shadows—soft,
yet commanding—as she spoke, “You, the last one standing... I know exactly what
you''re going to do.” Her eyes gleamed with unsettling certainty, as though she
could read his every thought before it took form.
The Gnoll snarled, yellow eyes wide with panic.
His gaze darted around, his mind racing to decide what to do next. As Merlin
had predicted, he lunged—swift, vicious, desperate for blood. But his claws
missed, slicing through empty air where she had been only a moment before.
“Next?” she asked, her tone thick with mockery.
The Gnoll swung again, a wild, backhanded strike,
but once more, he missed. The only sound was the whoosh of air, his frustration
palpable. In a panic, he fumbled for something in his pouch—likely a vial,
perhaps poison or a magical concoction. Just as he prepared to hurl it,
Merlin’s hand flicked out, a flash of silver, and with a precise motion, his
arm was severed clean through at the shoulder. The vial dropped to the ground,
its contents spilling uselessly across the cobblestones.
“You’re supposed to run, you know,” Merlin
teased, her voice laced with disdain. “But you''re not listening, are you?” The
Gnoll''s eyes burned with rage, and with his remaining arm, he hurled his
sword—a final, desperate attempt to strike her down. But Merlin moved like a
blur. With a flick of her wrist, she parried the blade effortlessly, sending it
skittering across the ground.
That’s when it hit me, a cold realization racing
down my spine—Merlin could see the future. She wasn’t merely predicting his
moves; she was reading him like an open book, anticipating everything before he
even thought it.
"Seen that one too," she quipped, a
smirk curling on her lips.
Then, in a swift motion, she raised her dagger to
deliver the final blow. But just before the blade could meet its mark, a heavy
clang echoed through the alley. The strike was deflected.
A dwarf, thick with muscle and grizzled in
appearance, had blocked her attack with a massive battle hammer.
I stood frozen, caught between awe and confusion,
unable to comprehend what had just transpired.
The dwarf sighed heavily, his thick beard
twitching with irritation as he wiped his brow. “Lady Merlin...” His voice
rumbled through the alley, thick with frustration. “When we took this bloody
bounty you posted, I assumed you wanted us to do the killing?” He eyed her,
clearly unimpressed.
Merlin let out a soft laugh, almost playful, the
sound cutting through the tension. With a fluid motion, she sheathed her
dagger, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “My apologies, old friend…”
She waved her hand, as if the matter were inconsequential. “I assumed when you
advertised ‘we do the dirty work,’ you meant…”
Her eyes flicked to the entrance of the alleyway,
and instinctively, I followed her gaze. Two ogres stood there, silent giants
whose mere presence made the already narrow alley feel even tighter. One was
enormous—a hulking male who nearly touched the rooftops, his massive arms
bulging with muscle. The other, a shorter female, was just as broad, her
stature as much a threat as his. Despite the childlike curiosity in her face,
she was an intimidating force.
The dwarf exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging
in resignation. “I should’ve known…” he muttered under his breath. Then,
glancing back at Merlin, he added, “Look, lass, we’re not a cleanup service.”
Merlin grinned, unfazed. “Ah, but you get paid
either way, right?”
The dwarf hesitated, a flicker of doubt passing
across his face before he shrugged, defeated. “Well, regardless, can’t let you
kill the last one... he still needs to be interrogated.”
With a sharp whistle that echoed off the stone
walls, he called out, “Alright, Zug… clean ‘em up.”
The towering ogre pointed to the dead gnolls, his
deep voice slow and deliberate. “Gru…”
The younger ogre grunted, rolling her shoulders
before speaking in a tone almost bored, “Ok, papa.”