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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.
I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI
copyright november, 1999 noah mclaughlin