The Black Chapel
IV
Minj paused as he topped the last hill before reaching
the city, his shadow a long patch of black before him in the evening sun.
He was high enough now to see just over the great, grey city walls.
Two great rivers flowed from the north and disappeared within the city,
and the entire area was a dead grey and white under the low winter sun.
Ice clung to bushes and grass and frost remained even in midday.
He hated the cold of winter; of all the alien things that he had discovered
here, he hated the cold the most.
The luyj sighed and shook his
head. He had found himself suddenly in this strange land what seemed
to be a long time ago. The novelty had worn out quickly and now he
was in search of a way home. He had traveled far, but had learned
so little about returning to the deserts and blazing sun of his youth.
And so he had come to this small city, the one they called Bridgeville.
Perhaps here he would find a way home, or perhaps just more trouble.
He began walking again, keeping
a healthy distance from anyone else on the road. He did not trust
the people of this kingdom: they were too bigoted and slow to tolerate
outsiders. He had begun to pass himself off as a man from one of
the southern kingdoms, apparently they all had darker skin. But it
was a difficult lie; he knew little about anything to the south of this
realm.
A guard stopped him when he reached
the massive city gate. The human was dressed in a uniform of gold
and green, perhaps the colors of the local lord.
“What is your business in Bridgeville?”
he asked gruffly.
Minj looked at the thin human
for a moment, sizing him up, and then suppressed the great urge to simply
tear into the scrawny man. He had found violence far from necessary
in this strange land, so much unlike his native Lynth. The luyj simply
grunted and replied: “Bodyguard. You know, sword for hire.”
He had found it to be a widely accepted story, and the guard accepted it
here, too.
He walked slowly into the city,
once again keeping his distance from any human. The street hummed
with an intense, rushed energy. It seemed humans did not particularly
enjoy the cold, either. Faces darted in and out of the vast crowd,
and a hundred scents carried upon the crisp winter air. He walked
cautiously about, getting the feel of the bustling air that filled the
city streets.
A sudden, cold wind
whipped beside him, and Minj whirled about just in time to see a small
figure clad entirely in black slipping through the crowd like the worm-beasts
of his homeland slipped through the desert sands. Intrigued, he began
to follow the dark figure through the crowd, moving swiftly to keep pace.
After a few blocks, the figure disappeared into a side street, and Minj
quickly followed.
He did not even hear the
sudden whoosh of air as a hand grabbed his throat, whirling him about violently
and slamming him against a wall in less than a heartbeat. The air
in his lungs pushed itself out with a painful groan. Two intense,
red eyes filled his view, surrounded by a pale face that was mostly covered
by a black scarf; only the eyes and the bridge of the nose were to be seen.
Minj shivered as the man gazed directly into his eyes.
“You have been following
me.” His voice was low and quiet, but the man in black spoke with
penetrating intensity. “Why?”
Minj attempted a shrug.
“You intrigued me,” he said at last, still very aware of the incredibly
strong hand at his throat.
“I intrigued you?” the man
said incredulously. “I intrigued you….” His eyes looked up
and down Minj’s stout and muscular frame, assessing him in one swift, confident
and practiced motion. “You are a stranger.”
Minj nodded slowly but shallowly.
There was no doubt that the man had seen the raq-jah at his side.
It was a weapon common enough in his own land: a large blade that surrounded
the forearm and curved out before the knuckles. But it was unique
in this land, and often attracted attention.
“Do you know anything of
the Thieves’ guild here in Bridgeville? Anything?”
Minj shook his head. “No.”
An afterthought: “…sir.”
“A stranger you are indeed.”
The man’s red eyes seemed to burn brighter – more intensely, actually -
for a moment. “But this could be good.” The cold air coalesced
about him, and he seemed to cast a much longer and darker shadow in the
weak winter sun.
Minj remained silent.
“I… am on a quest – of sorts,”
the man said. “It is personal in nature, very personal. Are
your abilities for hire?”
The suddenness of the question
caught Minj off-guard. He stuttered for a moment, and then found
his tongue: “Yes. Yes, they are.”
The man’s red eyes narrowed
to bitter red slits. “Fine, fine then. You are hired.”
“For what?”
The man in black released
Minj from the death-grip about his neck, lowering the luyj to the ground.
“There is a… figure within the Thieves’ Guild who I wish you to… contact.”
“Who is this man?” Minj
asked. “How am I supposed to ‘contact’ him?”
“He is not a man,” the man
in black snapped. “Never refer to him as a ‘man’.” Silence
hung within the bitter air like mourners at a funeral. “He is called
the Master of Thieves. Ask any man upon the street and he will give
you a history. I shall not waste my breath.
“How are you to contact
him….” The man paused for a few moments, pondering. His eyes
narrowed to harrowing slits again. “Kill a few thieves. You
can do that, can you not? Do not search him out. Just get his
attention.”
“Why?” Minj was beginning
to feel the cold under his many layers of clothing, which felt strange
enough with their alien weight. And this arrangement was beginning
to sound too much like the dealings of the cults of Lynth: indirect, covert,
shrouded in mystery even to the dealers.
“You are to give him a message,
stranger,” the man said. “Tell him the Black Hand is closing.”
“And why can’t you give
it to him?” Minj could use whatever this man was going to pay him;
but you can’t spend gold from the grave.
“You are to be paid fifty
gold pieces upon delivery of the message,” the man said. “No sooner.”
Minj nodded. Fifty
gold was a hefty sum: more than most commonfolk made in a year. This
message was either very important or its delivery was very dangerous.
But he had done more dangerous things for less money before.
“You begin immediately.”
And with that near-whisper, the man faded into a shadow across the alley.
And was gone.
Minj rubbed his eyes in
disbelief, but did not waste his time searching. Magic was more common,
and more accepted in this land than in the desert; he was slowly becoming
more accustomed to it himself. With a huff and the shake of his head,
he turned back onto the street and began searching for the nearest tavern.
Dunes, he needed a drink.
Back
Next
I II
III IV
V VI
VII VIII
IX X
XI
