Striking Into Darkness Part One
The 15 elves of Strike Team 144 joined hands inside a ritual circle. They were members of the Veid Krusus, the feared Black Hands. Standing in their midst was Sar'Than Valanthian, a wizard who specialized in the creation of portals and teleportation. His eyes shown with an electric blue light, otherworldly in origin and frightening to behold. His power was absolutely palpable in the room. His melodious voice chanted the ancient rites of the Lanthian sages; rites as old as the world itself and more terrible than the gods.
Flinging his thinly muscled arms outward from his body, Sar'Than called down the mystic energies that began to coalesce around the circle. Light burst forth from him and filled the inside of the room, painting the damp, stone walls a pale aquamarine. His eyes were shining bright, though his pupils and irises were lost in a blinding sea of blue power. The voices of the other elves in the strike team were suddenly deafened by a loud, snapping and crackling boom. Everyone instinctively ducked their heads as if a blow were about to fall and their eyes flinched shut. Only their training kept them from answering the fearful desire to run or to draw weapons. Instead, they clinched their teeth hard and held tight to one another's hands. The circle could not be broken or the spell would be lost.
The sharp odor of ozone like the smell of the air after a thunderstorm assailed their noses. The nauseating sensation of warped time and the whooshing feeling of trans spatial travel filled their heads with spinning waves of vertigo. Their stomachs lurched and threatened to bathe everyone in the meal they had last shared. Someone briefly wailed in dismay for what seemed like an hour, but was merely a millisecond in magic space and twisted time. Teleportation was wearing on the soul, hard on the mind, and worse for the inexperienced or the very old.
Though the spell probably lasted only a minute, it seemed an eternity before the screaming sounds of hurried time and flying space was finished. The darkness that replaced the blinding blue light and the silence that met the aching ears of the travelers was almost as horrible as the spell had been. It was a sudden stop that allowed the inertia of moving spirit to continue while the body no longer moved at all. The head wheeled. The heart beat erratically in the chest. The soul desperately reached out to cling to something familiar.
This is why it was not completely unknown for healthy individuals to drop dead after a teleportation of this magnitude. It was, also, why it was so very important that the Strike Team hold tight to one another's hands. Those hands were the lifeline. No one lost his or herself in the time void as long as their brethren had hold of their hand.
Saemael opened his eyes, though his body demanded to keep them shut. He knew very well that danger could be lurking just on the other side of the darkness shield that had been magically constructed to protect them from prying eyes. The darkness couldn't hold the danger away for long. It simply allowed them a moment's respite to recover from the teleportation sickness.
He forced his labored breathing to slow and using the techniques taught him by ancient masters, he slowed his own heartbeat to a more gentle pace. He did all of this in less than a minute's time and yet, he still felt that it had taken too long. He needed to make it second nature. He chided himself for a second as the veil of darkness fell from around himself and the other Strike Team members.
Nuatha, his new bride and fellow member, blushed for a moment when the darkness dissipated and realized she had been clutching harshly to Saemael's hand like a fearful child. She composed herself quickly and Saemael smiled inwardly for it. Whenever she was most vulnerable was when she was most beautiful to him for it happened so rarely. She was known as an ice maiden for more than just her ability to cast terrifying spells of freezing might.
Saemael looked at the other team members. His eyes had already adjusted to the natural darkness of the valley that surrounded them. He quickly checked his own weapons, instinctively fingered his amulet of magical might that hung about his neck, and ran his hands over the long tail of his white hair that hung down his back. His blue eyes scanned the fourteen other elves of his team as they all followed the same type of routines themselves concerning preparation for battle.
Nuatha reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Saemael turned suddenly, realizing his senses were already razor sensitive. He knew he needn't fear her. Her eyes were closed and her dark lips formed silent words of magical might. A cold ache filled his arm where she touched it. The new power coursed down Saemael's arm and into his hand. He smiled again. .
Saemael accepted his lover's power into himself. Nuatha opened her eyes and grinned.
"It will allow you to call forth ice, Saem. Simply reach your hand out and touch the enemy and they will freeze." She whispered the instructions to him and pantomimed the motion.
He groaned and rolled his eyes. "I know that already," he quietly snapped at her, "How many times do we have to do this before you stop telling me that? You act like I'm still new at this...or like I'm an idiot."
She shook her head and turned away from him. He knew he had been unnecessarily harsh, but he knew, also, that she would likely forgive him after the battle was done. He swallowed hard and simply hoped she'd forget. Apologizing was not his strong point. Most would've said that the more "gentle" arts were completely out of his grasp. He accepted that this meant he would not be invited to many parties at court, but he definitely would be leading the armies. That's all that mattered to him most of the time, but when it came to Nuatha, he wished fervently that his tongue could be left in its scabbard as easily as his sword.
Solva Pe'Rial Osmet motioned with one arm for everyone to come forward to where he stood. Saemael moved silently and quickly to join the semicircle in front of Osmet that had formed out of the other members. He noticed that Nuatha did not come to stand next to him and it bothered him only for a second. He had to force her from his mind. He had to force his mind into a place of battle; a place where soft and worried thoughts of his lover could endanger his ability to survive. Nuatha would be doing the same.
Osmet's dark armor did not shine in the night. His eyes were old, though his body was still strong and muscled. His short swords hung at the ready on his slender hips. His hair was kept very short cropped, which was unusual for Lanthian males, and a magical helm covered his head.
With a simple set of signals, Osmet gave them a quick battle formation and marching order. It was nothing new to Saemael. Only Ivben seemed unaccustomed to it which was not surprising considering his young and inexperienced nature. Osmet simply took the young Elf under his own tutelage and decided Ivben would be traveling next to him in line even before they had teleported here. Ivben took it as an insult. Osmet knew this, but considered it a necessity. He, also, knew Ivben would eventually mature enough to realize it had been the best decision. It would likely save many. One inexperienced soldier could inadvertently kill them all.
The first team lifted themselves out of their kneeling stances and began to quietly creep up out of the valley. Saemael waited until the first team had moved about one hundred paces. He then stood and motioned for the rest of his team to do likewise. They did, even though he noticed that Nuatha's eyes were still narrowed at him as she stood. As she moved away, he noticed her expertly scan her sector for enemy. Saemael looked back at his team every ten to fifteen paces as they made their way through the dense jungles. Wordlessly, he communicated with each of them through hand motions, as well as Osmet. Then, Osmet communicated with Sar'Than Valanthian back in Lanthas with a ring of telepathy he wore upon his hand.
They made good time in the cool jungle night despite the sopping wet and extremely thick vegetation and the swarming of infuriating wing infested vermin that tormented their every step in the dark. Lamman Kievan Ghen, the leader of team one, was exceptional at effortlessly navigating through any terrain. The team had teleported into a valley a mere two hours past sunset and started traveling within two minutes to their intended destination. They halted every hour for ten minutes to verify their location, their route and to relay this information to Sar'Than, even though all of this was known. It was standard operating procedure to scry on any official operation that took place in the confines of the dangerous and abyssal jungle of the Emerald Empire.
Five hours of hard marching under load was negligible, but with the physically enhancing magics the team were currently bestowed with, there was no issue of strain or fatigue. The team was just as capable as they were five hours ago. They crested a ridge line and the city of Shera'vien spread out before them. This was where the operation became much more risky.
They began the descent into the rugged valley floor. They knew that their target was in city, and with a fair degree of certainty which building. The issue was that the infernal Ss'Vash's power grew more intense nearer his temples. The entire realm was coterminus with his planar home which made magic extremely difficult within his borders and simple scrying almost impossible. For this reason, only special operations teams and exitus class mages could operate within those lands. Sar'Than was an Exitus class mage and was able to breach the misty veil that surrounded the Emerald Empire from prying eyes, yet even his power was spent uselessly when attempting to scry within several thousand yards of one of Ss'Vash's temples. Rings of telepathy were also affected and for this reason, the team knew that once within the perimeter there could be no emergency teleportation.
The outskirts of the city began to form in their range of sight; the peculiarly arched and faintly luminescent Imperial architecture starkly contrasting with the blackness of the jungle. Saemael saw the first team begin to break into pairs and alternate advancing with pulling security for their opposite number. Halting his members to allow the first team to infiltrate into the city, he signaled for his group to split into their pairs. They did and Nuatha came to his side. Her dark eyes still betrayed her low simmering anger towards him. She had not yet forgotten.
Saemael growled inwardly and rolled his eyes as he had anytime he remembered his hastily spoken stupidity from earlier in the night. He also wondered for the millionth time why he would have insisted that she continue to work with him. Why hadn't he pressured her into retiring for family life? Once again, the answer came to him unbidden. "I love her and because when the going is tough, I know she can take care of herself...and me. Besides, she'd learn to hate me if I took this from her. Nothing thrills her so much as taking an enemy down. Even my love is no match for that,", he thought. Running a hand through his long hair, he forced the thoughts from his mind once more. This was no place for such things. Thoughts of this nature would only distract him from his job and potentially undermine their mission.
The mission. Saemael's face formed into a flat frown. This mission did not meet with his approval, nor Osmet's. The mission objective was simple, assassination. The reasons for the assassination were also simple. The target was responsible for the recent spate of cult activity in the Second Founding, and the Council of Purity would brook no interference in the affairs of the Second Founding. Political destabilization and cultural manipulation required a fine touch and any sort of random factor could wash away decades of work. That was not to be tolerated and so Executor Silesia had spoken, and now it was being done, by Strike Team 144.
First team was stealthily maneuvering along both sides of the road. Like shadows, they glided against soundlessly near walls of the buildings, ducked below windows and peered down alleys. They left no place unscanned. These elite soldiers, magically enhanced and superbly trained, were fast blurry predators, marvelously deadly and hungry for the kill.
They slipped into the city and avoided contact. Their presence would be revealed soon enough. Early discovery would result in death, failure and disgrace; none of which were acceptable to them or the A'Lanthan government. They arrived at their objective, the Temple of Ss'Vash Val'Harish, which meant The Temple of Ss'Vash the Benevolent, in their hated tongue.
Thallis and Khuva, the first team snipers, broke off and began to scale the walls of a building facing the temple. Saemael looked over his left shoulder and made eye contact with Kir and Ayaen, and signaled for his sniper pair to follow suit. They nodded and went off vertically into the night.
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