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Chapter X
I had begun to measure
time in decades now, days and months and years having little meaning as
they all swirled together in terrible sameness. And many decades
passed. The city of Bridgeville grew, as did the kingdom, but still
many things remained besides myself.
The Guild, as always,
is immortal; thieves still raided and murdered and fought for their meager,
meaningless lives. I held my own against them, of course, though
they never gave up their ceaseless and futile attempts to somehow rid themselves
of me. I took a small amount of pleasure in taunting them with foiling
their every new and increasingly desperate plan.
Still serfs and commonfolk
bent and broke their backs in the fields, and merchants - the dishonest
and the naive alike - plied their craft in the city streets. Still
the Nobles ruled over them with an iron fist, and power that came only
from their money and the commonfolk's lack of will. Still the summer
baked the city and winter removed the weak from the yoke of the Dark Alleys.
Still people lived and died, laughed and cried, celebrated and mourned.
Still the Dancing
Maid served its customers with the Krystans' famous ale, and bards sung
their way into fame or infamy before its hearth. I took a small comfort
in the immortality of that tavern; it was perhaps the only pleasant thing
that ever remained. I sat in the tavern at least once a week, often
more, and listened. It is true: one can feel the pulse of the very
city, and sometimes the kingdom, in that tiny room and its incredible melange
of patrons. And I found that now I listened more and more and spoke
less and less. Often, there was no one to speak to, even myself.
People avoided me if they at all could, my mere presence being a harbinger
of the blackness that I am. Soon, I noticed that I did not speak
at all, and did not miss the sound. So, I abandoned all verbal communication.
It added an eerie depth to the myth that had become much of who most thought
I was.
I taught myself how
to read and write. It was a difficult task, but I noticed that many
people could; and I wished to know what intercepted notes said, or just
what was written on edicts from the Duke or the King. It took me
a year or more before I was truly proficient, having nothing more with
which to teach myself than the postings from the nobility or traveling
acting troupes, or the occasional book stolen from a store or merchant.
I found it to be incredibly useful: I could scribble messages in blood,
or send threatening notes to the Guild. There were an infinite number
of applications, and I applied myself to learning all that I could about
language and literature. To humans, I had become a learned man, though
I considered myself neither more man, nor more learned.
Strangely, my reputation,
or the myth of who I was, grew throughout the city. I often heard
people speaking of the `Immortal Thief' or that `Black Demon of Bridgeville.'
`The Master of Thieves', became the favorite, it seemed, and I liked the
irony of how close it sounded to the title of Master Thief. Bards
began seeking me out, trying to find first-hand any information about me
that they could add to their tales. I killed most, and the others
I frightened away. They did not concern me, and neither would I have
some crafty Guildsman or Watchman discovering just who I am and what I
do. I did not trust a one. But still the myths and rumors persisted,
growing to grandiose and sometimes ridiculous size. I did not stop
a one: the more the people feared me, the better.
Still, all in all,
very little happened in perhaps a hundred years or so. The universe
continued in its chaos, and humanity continued in its fight against it.
And I continued as I had before: thieving, murdering, lying.
Until the day I met
Stephen's child; then I began something new: wondering.
It was late at night,
and I sat in my usual corner in the Dancing Maid. The spot had become
something of the local folklore: the shadowed seat where the Master of
Thieves would sit at night. I never visited the Dancing Maid in the
daytime; I never appeared much at all while the sun shined. Darkness
and shadows were my friends and companions. But the barkeeps came
to know me, giving me a slight nod when I entered in the evening, and waving
good-bye when I left before they closed. They had the good sense
never to talk to me, though some of the serving wenches had the audacity
to approach. I never killed any, but more than a few received dark
stares.
The tavern, as usual,
was filled with tobacco smoke and laughter, and the raucous talk of the
patrons. The bard had taken a break, and I was listening. It
was a warm summer night, and the front windows were wide open.
But I felt him long before I heard or saw him. A figure
in tattered brown robes entered the tavern, his hood drawn about its face,
and staff in his hand that appeared to be four thin branches wrapped about
one another, each with a small sphere imbedded in the tip. The figure
cast an aura that struck me with its power and intensity. My gaze
was drawn to him immediately, the moment he had stepped though the doors,
and remained fixed upon him as he looked about the tavern.
Finally, he saw me,
and, to my great surprise, began to approach. He was rather short,
perhaps a head and a half shorter than most men. His robes were travel-worn
with patches of dried mud and not a few hastily-sown holes, and his black
boots matched the filth. My first impression was that of a very brave
adventurer, but there was something about this person that did not fit
the mold of an adventurer. A figure of this much power, I knew, would
not be adventuring anywhere in this city, or on this world.
He arrived at my table,
and looked at me from the shadows of his hood.
I stared back.
"May I sit?" he asked,
his voice a deep and tranquil baritone.
I did not reply, but
he sat anyway, continuing to regard me from beneath his hood.
"It's true what they
say," he said. "You have the eyes of a demon."
I drew my dagger.
I had not killed anyone in the Dancing Maid yet. Yet.
"And it's true what
my father tells me," he said. "You are very strong."
I continued to glare
him, wishing that he would dispense with his damned observations and get
to the point.
"But you wish for
me to come to the point," he said, and gave a sigh. "Very well.
First, my name is Narkim." He removed his hood to reveal a head of
blond hair that was almost white, a face of pale skin, the pointed ears
of an elf, and crystal blue eyes. "I am of the family of Kyie."
I started, looking
at him in disbelief.
"What, do you think
that Stepan had no children?" he said. "For a long time that was
true, though. I am only about as old as you, Kae."
My stare of disbelief
returned to a cold glare. I had not told him my name, and it was
a kind of insult to know it without me telling him.
"Names and ages are
unimportant, though," Narkim said. "At least for now. What
is important is that I have a job for you. You are free to take or
leave it, as you please, it matters little to me. I am not so foolish
as to place something crucial upon what you will and will not do.
I've grown up watching you, Kae, and you are as predictable as the wind,
besides your violence. But, I think you will want to do this."
I began wishing again
that he would stop his incessant gibbering and get to the damned point.
"And so I shall."
Narkim's tendency to read everyone's minds and respond directly to their
thoughts has always unnerved me. "There is an elf that will soon
be entering the city. He is an adventurer, dresses in all black,
and has a very... eclectic party. You will know Jaysin the moment
you see him, I am sure. Keep a close eye on this elf, Kae, especially
if he has any designs upon the Guild. Do nothing to stop him, but
watch him carefully none the less." He stood suddenly, drawing his
hood tightly about his face once more. "You will find it within your
best interests to follow my instructions, Kae." Narkim stood, drew
something from a belt-pouch, and tossed it onto the table. "Proof,"
he said.
I snatched the amulet
up and looked at it. It was a palm-sized medallion of gold with a
string of braided silver and violet. Upon one side was engraved a
sigil I knew was Stephen's, upon the other, a new mark that was probably
Narkim's.
I hefted its weight
in my hand, and then looked up to Narkim - only to find that he had disappeared.
Damn those wizards,
I thought, and their exits.
The following morning
dawned with terrible reds that ate at the sky and covered the sun like
blood. In hindsight, the sunrise was incredibly appropriate.
I stood upon the roof
of a merchant's tiny shop along the main road through Bridgeville.
I was very close to the East Gate, and even though there was very little
beyond that gate - only the fledgling Forestvale and a mass of wilderness
- I knew somehow that this `Jaysin' would be arriving there. I had
waited patiently all night, tossing the medallion in my hand from time
to time, admiring its weight and value. To someone like Narkim, or
Stephen, such things were of little concern, but some part of me was still
very impressed by the riches that this medallion represented.
The elf had been right,
though, I had no problem finding this adventurer in black with an `eclectic'
party. The sky still bathed with the deep reds of dawn, a party of
seven came through the gate on horseback. Though I had seen practically
the gamut of parties and individuals come through the gates of Bridgeville
from practically all over the world of Alina, `eclectic' was the best word
to describe this bunch. Four men in uniforms - certainly highered
mercenaries - rode two in front and two in rear of the group. They
were haggard and battle-weary, though still relatively young for humans.
Their faces were hirsute and their clothing patched and dirty from many
travels and many battles.
Between the front
and rear guards were three of the most mismatched figures one could imagine.
The first was an elf, I could see her pointed ears and tell-tale lithe
figure from a block away. She was dressed in chain mail over light
robes, and carried a mace and a club at each side. Strangely, though she
wore the garb and had the dirt and bruises of an experienced fighter, she
seemed ill at ease with herself and her surroundings, as if she were an
alien in her own skin. Her eyes flitted about nervously, and were
filled with a fire that would crush the first sign of trouble with her
weapons without a second thought.
The second figure
was a human that towered above the rest of the party by at least two heads.
To say that he was huge would be something of an understatement.
The man's height was matched only by his bulk. He carried a two-handed
sword on his saddle and I had no doubt that he wielded the blade that was
as long as most were tall with the ease of a knife. The tall man
had a worn and grim visage; I doubted if he smiled much. He was hirsute
and bruised like the guards, but it was the burden of his past that weighed
upon his shoulders more than that of any recent battles.
Jaysin was recognizable
in an instant. He was an elf, which I could only discern from his
height and slimness, since he wore a black hood tightly about his face;
and he crouched slightly in the saddle, as if bent on some awesome task
before him and determined to complete it no matter the cost. His
robes were completely black, and I could see no arms besides a bastard
sword that gleamed at his side and a quarter staff lashed to his saddle.
Whether the elf was a fighter or a mage I did not know, but it mattered
little. Like Michael or Narkim, I could sense Jaysin's powerful aura
fully a street away.
So, this is the elf
that I am to mark so well for the son of Stephen, I thought. I did
not trust Narkim. I had learned over the years that mages, like thieves,
often had their own designs and had little problems using you in any way
to complete them. But, for all that I did not trust Stephen's son,
I trusted this powerful Jaysin and his bizarre company even less.
I decided to follow them - carefully.
As they passed, the
elfin woman, with her darting gaze, caught sight of me and gasped.
She turned to motion to Jaysin, but by the time he was looking I had long
disappeared.
I knew that they were
heading for the Guild like I knew my way through the streets of Bridgeville;
it seemed a bizarrely logical inevitability. I followed them like
any good thief through the winding streets and passages of the Dark Alleys,
merging in and out of shadows, forever eluding their sight. The guards
remained passive but determined. Jaysin was paying a pretty coin
for these men, I thought to myself. They were very good at what they
did. The tall human did much the same, never saying a word as his
iron cold gaze drifted slowly back and forth, never missing a thing.
The elfin woman was far more animated, pointing and gawking at the decrepitness
of the Dark Alleys, constantly drawing the party's attention to this movement
in the shadows or that. She began to annoy even me. Jaysin
remained patient with her demands for attention, and always focused on
arriving at the Guild. He seemed as bent upon getting there as Sol
is bent upon setting in the evening. The horses plodded inexorably
through the Dark Alleys until they arrived.
I perched myself upon
the roof of a shop that faced the false front of the Guild. How foolish,
I remember thinking to myself, that they had kept that thin veneer for
more than a century; it hid no more secrets, as it had done so many decades
ago. The party dismounted, and warily approached the `front' door.
I looked about and saw that strangely there was no one around to deter
them. I shook my head: the Guild was slipping up more and more these
days. Jaysin gained entrance without event, and soon the entire company
entered.
I counted slowly to
myself to allow them time to find the concealed door or for the Guild's
guards to find them. Perhaps it was simple burning curiosity, or
concern, or something deeper and darker, but I leapt silently to the street
and followed them inside.
The salon was as smoke-filled
and cacophonous as ever, though I could see the deterioration that was
happening. The walls were cracked and peeling, the serving wenches
were old and ugly, and there were too many shadows even for a thieves'
guild. As was to be expected, the entire room came to a grinding,
sudden halt the moment I entered, and not a few people made haste to exit.
I chuckled to myself as I looked about. My gaze was deep and sinister,
and they all cringed in mortal terror.
I looked at a serving
wench questioningly. She knew very well what I meant, and hooked
a thumb at the double doors that were about to fall off their hinges at
the far end of the room.
I had taken only a
few steps in their direction when the heavy and rotting doors burst off
of their hinges, followed by a billowing ball of heat and a thundering
roar. Everyone in the salon screamed and scrambled for cover except
me. I knocked one of the thick oak doors to the side as it flew towards
me, and walked calmly into the large hall beyond the doorway that now yawned
open.
A charred body lay
only a half-dozen paces from the doorway, still flaming. The horrible,
thick smell of burnt flesh filled the air like a whore's perfume and I
stood within the door to inhale deeply. Then I approached the corpse
and dug my dagger into it; a very futile and really meaningless gesture,
but I had to play to my audience.
Jaysin stood at the other end of the hall, his hands still poised
to cast a spell. I glared at him as I sheathed my dagger, and though
he flinched slightly, he did not run or scream in fear.
"I take it you're
the one I'm supposed to talk to now," he said with a determined voice that
was would not take any thief's glib, which was probably the mistake of
my predecessor. I nodded.
"I am Jaysin Whitefrost,"
he said, "adventurer, mage and warrior. And you are...?"
I snapped my fingers,
and immediately there was lackey beside me. "Uh - um... he is...."
The young boy searched for a moment for my name. "The Master of Thieves...
and Master Thief of this Guild of Bridgeville."
It had a nice ring
to it, I thought to myself.
"Well," Jaysin said
as his stance relaxed, a little, "I am need of your services."
I motioned him to
continue and get to his damned point. The
elf said, "I need a hundred of your best men to sack the castle of Sarka
the Witch."
I raised my eyebrows
in surprise. Sarka the Witch? Everyone knew of Sarka then:
the demented and chaotic despot witch that lived in a secluded keep far
in the heights of the Border Mountains. Many a stout adventurer had
disappeared into the mountains to seek her demise only to never be heard
from again. Sarka, it was said, could tame dragons with her whisper
and held more power than any other wizard in the world.
"Sarka?!" one of the
surrounding Guild lackeys cried. "Are you mad?"
I do not think I have
ever seen a man move quite so fast with such single-minded determination.
In less time than it takes to breathe, Jaysin took two paces to approach
the man, unsheathed a dagger, plunged the blade into the man's gullet,
and then tossed the unwary Guildsman across the chamber. The man
smacked hard against the far wall and then slumped to the ground with a
terrible groan, blood pouring from both the wound in his stomach and the
back of his head.
I stared at the dying
man for a long moment, and then looked back to Jaysin. The elf glared
at the man with a fire in his eyes that seemed to burn from the depths
of his troubled soul.
And I thought: this
elf is a volatile lunatic - and he is the only person in the universe that
could ever defeat the wild witch Sarka. I ordered the first lackey
to quickly draw up a contract. It specified some amount to be paid
for the services of the Guild's hundred best men for a raid upon Sarka's
castle. I signed it with the blood of the man that Jaysin had just
killed.
Jaysin's eyes grew
wide when I signed, and he would not look me in the eye when he paid.
I smiled at him as he left.
The moment Jaysin had
left, I motioned to a lackey (there seemed to be no end to them,) and soon
he had brought me a pen and paper. I sat in the large throne at the
far end of the hall, and wrote:
I am Kae, the Master
of Thieves, the Immortal Blackness, the Thief of Thieves, and the Rogue
of Rogues. I hereby take the office of Master Thief of this Guild
of Bridgeville, and shall hold tenure, as with all my predecessors, until
the end of my days. May any man foolish enough to oppose me do it
in accordance with the rites and ways set in the past of this Guild.
I shall strike him down.
I had seen such an
edict posted many times throughout the Dark Alleys, and sometimes the entire
city. There was little difference between my wording and that of
my predecessors. But then I added:
I am forever.
I handed the paper
back to the lackey. He said that would make a few dozen copies to
post. But I wanted this edict to go throughout the kingdom; The King
would know that I had arrived.
Like most of the rightful
things in my place and existence, this had come unseen, yet felt perfectly
natural: being the Master Thief of the Thieves' Guild. I smiled to
myself, realizing the irony of it all. The universe can have a wonderful
sense of humor.
There were many changes
to be made, I thought to myself as I looked about at the decrepit scene
that this Guild had become, physical changes as well as many others.
The Guild of Near Capital had once been the greatest in the kingdom, you
know. It was my goal to be greater. The entire city would be
within my clutches, and my war upon the universe continued as my war upon
the Guild had ended.
The blood was about
to truly flow.
I met Jaysin and his
company the next morning well outside of the West Gate, along with my army
of one hundred men. They were the Guild's best, and they sickened
me. Jack's little band could have taken this force. But, a
contract had been signed, and I intended to honor it if only for the soul
purpose of beginning to glean the ranks of my guild.
Jaysin hailed me from
afar, but I only stared at him as we approached. He felt compelled,
for some reason, to introduce his company to me. The guards' names
I do not remember, neither are they of any importance.
The elfin woman's
name was Rachelle, and upon close inspection, not only did she seem uncomfortable
in her skin, but she did not even act like an elf. She did not stand
straight like elves do, and she did not have the innate grace of her people.
I suspected sorcery, but did not wish to inquire, that would require speaking
and wasting precious time and energy.
The tall man's name
was Bud. No family name, just `Bud.' He did not speak at all,
though his graceful gestures betrayed that he had at some time been nobility,
or had at least learned with and from them. He was permanently calm
and collected, though ready to strike out in an instant. A deep sorrow
was fixed in his eyes, though beneath that there burned an anger that was
as hot as mine. He did not flinch when I met his gaze, and I could
tell that he had seen worse things.
"And you know me,
of course," Jaysin said at last.
I did not, nor had
I any wish to. My patience for this frivolity had come to an end.
Names and participants meant little to me now, nor did any reasons this
elf might have. I was fulfilling only my own goals of thinning the
waste of the Guild's force, and if those designs came along with both Jaysin's
and Narkim's, then so be it.
As we rode of to the
west, I felt Stephen at work somewhere deep in side all of this.
There was something to be understood, in this raid upon a witch's keep
with a mad elf, a message to be conveyed to me. It was a thought
which I did not wish to understand completely.
The sunset burned with
deep hues of red and purple that suffused through the sky about the Border
Mountains as we traveled through them the next evening. From Bridgeville
we had traveled west along the road, turning south just before Royale,
and then straight across the wilderness to the mountains, and began our
climb in morning of the second day. The trail that led to Sarka's
keep was well-known, and certainly not difficult to find. This made
me uneasy, and I ordered half of my troops to disperse into the surrounding
forests. I had no doubt that we were being watched, and the more
difficult it was to watch us, the better.
Jaysin rode in determined
silence most of the day, his black hood drawn tightly about his face.
Bud rode mutely at his side, his worn and tired look never failing in its
vigilance. It was this man, I thought, that had saved the elf many
a time from his own lunacy. Jaysin was clearly mad, for at one moment
he would be riding sullenly, immersed in his own thoughts, and the next
he would be joking and laughing with his guards and Rachelle, then he would
return to his sullen state. The party seemed to accept this as normal,
though the guards seemed to be rather uneasy when he would first approach.
Rachelle rode mostly with the hired mercenaries, talking and trading stories.
She had the common talk of a serving wench, I noticed, not at all like
the proper learned human language of elves.
None of Jaysin's company
mingled with my thieves, nor did any of the Guildsmen even speak to any
of the party. I rode silently along with Bud mostly, because he was
the most quiet.
We rode hard,
and the landscape changed from flat and featureless plains to rolling foothills,
to thick forest, and presently to the barren mountain tops above the tree-line.
The witch was not far from here, I could feel the intensity of her magical
power. The next moment, we rounded a ridge to see a flat-grey castle
which stood upon a ridge-top and was surrounded by a black-watered moat.
Irregular fires burned along the ramparts, though I was certain that this
did not mean there was any lack of guards or any reflection upon their
skill. This, like many things, was a brilliant ruse. The castle
was not to my taste at all. Oh, I did not have any opinion about
the architecture, but the entire edifice glowed with magic.
The entire party stopped
at the height of the ridge, and Jaysin regarded the dark castle for a few
long moments in silence. "How the hell are we going to get in there
with only a hundred men and us?"
I sighed, and motioned
to a commander that had just arrived. He gave the order for
the men to spread out along the ridge that surrounded the castle.
I knew they were not the best there could be, but the best one hundred
men of my guild could easily sack a castle. It was not large, and
they would not have to fight the mage or her powers directly.
Jaysin shrugged.
"Oh well." He began to dart down the other side of the ridge.
I grabbed the elf
by the collar and yanked him off of his horse. He dangled for a few
moments and then I dropped him to the ground.
"Wait?" he asked,
looking much like a scorned child.
I nodded.
And so we waited until
dark.
Luna's children glistened
beautifully upon the blackness of Nuin-Covl, and a cool mountain breeze
blew, whipping Jaysin's long black hair to one side. He stood tall
upon the bare ridge, his black cape billowing slightly with the breeze,
and his eyes glaring with deep red hatred at the castle. He drew
his bastard sword and planted the point in the ground before him, resting
on it slightly with both hands upon the pummel. He did not move a
single muscle, but maintained his glare at the castle: a single, hateful
statue bent on bringing terrible destruction.
The rest of his company
waited with me a little below the ridge and well-hidden from sight.
They seemed nervous: twitching about, restlessly drawing their weapons,
examining them, then resheathing the blades. Rachelle's nervous glances
became even more swift and erratic. Even Bud seemed ill at ease,
though he carried more the wariness of experience than the nervousness
of the others.
Rachelle suddenly
appeared beside me, looking with me at Jaysin's unmoving figure atop the
ridge. She was suddenly calm, even a little jaded by her voice.
"I suppose you'd like ta know why he hates her so much," she said.
I did not, but she continued:
"She cursed him,"
Rachelle explained. "And she said she'd never to take it back until
he got her the Black Unicorn's horn." She sighed. "So we went
and got that damned horn, fought our way through the thick of the Golden
Forest, packs of wild elves an' wolves an'..." She shook her head.
"Gods, a million other things, it seems. But we found the Black Unicorn.
It was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen in the world. It's
coat just gleamed an' you could jus' feel its goodness. An' he killed
it, an' he took its horn. An' I can remember thinking, thank the
gods, now we can live in peace.
"So we fought our
way out of the Golden Forest, past those elves, back to civilization.
An' I kin remember him sittin' in a tavern in Forestvale, and takin' out
that pitch black horn and starin' at it like it was the mos' disgustin'
thing in the world. And then he puts his head down the table an'
he cries. That was the only time I've ever seen that elf cry.
"When we all got up
the next morning, he was gone. He'd left a note that said he was
gonna give the horn back, an' that he'd be back in a few days. He
came back in a few days, like he said he would, an' there was this... fire
in his eyes. An' he told us that we were going to forget the damned
witch an' her curse an' jus' get the hole damned thing over with.
I didn't know this is what he meant, but hey?"
I looked at her with
a slightly confused glance. She was following this lunatic about
after the most powerful witch in the world, and all she could say was "But
hey"?!
"Yeah, I know," she
said, but she did not. "We never did figure out what the curse was,
though I remember that she put on a pretty impressive show when she cursed
him. Hell, it might've been nothin' but a bunch of little firecrackers
and those bards' tricks, but there was no way in all the Hells that you
could've gotten us to try an' blow it off."
She sighed and looked
at Jaysin's unmoving figure again. There was a hint of tenderness
and longing in her gaze. "So here we are."
No truer statement
has ever been made.
I stood as Jaysin
approached. "We're going to need a way in," he said. "I just
need your men to keep her men busy."
I nodded, and then
signalled to one of my commanders. With a force of only one hundred
men, I didn't think that was going to try and lay siege to a castle.
This was a mission of vengeance; he had no designs on the castle or any
wealth, only the witch. I knew the sentiment well. My force
had surrounded the castle on the hidden side of the ridge, and would await
a signal from someone inside the castle.
I presently decided
that someone would be me. I slid over the top of the ridge, the darkness
of the night surrounding me with its familiar and faithful shadows.
I crept to the gatehouse, and crawled inside through a poorly-shuttered
window. Soon, there was no one guarding the gatehouse, and Jaysin
and his company joined me there. I signaled the towers across the
moat, and the drawbridge was lowered. Quickly, we sped on horseback across
the lowered draw-bridge, a sudden, if awkward, hail of quarrels and arrows
raining upon us.
The gate was swiftly
being lowered, but Jaysin sped ahead of the rest of us, jumping off his
horse as he approached the gate and diving under it, narrow missing being
impaled by its sharp spikes. He laid into the guards that attacked
him there like a rabid dog trapped in a corner, and fell half a dozen by
the time we arrived.
Bud lifted the thick
iron gate as it were a small child, and we scurried inside. Soon
we were all surrounded by a few dozen vicious guards. Ignoring any
wounds, I promptly made my way to a guard who was wearing a crossbow.
He froze with my burning glare, and a moment later my knife slit his throat.
I took his crossbow, swiftly lashed a vial of lamp oil to a quarrel, lit
the attached fuse, and fired the quarrel into the air. It exploded
with a loud pop, and then I knew that my men were on the way. Small
boats had been fashioned that evening from the sparse trees about, and
they would attack the castle from all sides. The nuisance of all
these guards would soon be removed.
They were truly little
more than just a nuisance; Jaysin and his party seemed quite competent
in melee. Bud swung his large two-handed sword about with incredible
speed and proficiency; men fell like so many stalks of wheat about him.
When his sword had been knocked away, the huge human continued to attack
with equally formidable weapons: his fists. Rachelle careened about
like a mad-woman, flitting here and there, jumping and flinging herself
over her opponent's heads, and bashing them this way and that with a mace
in one hand and a club in the other. Jaysin laid into his opponents
with single-minded and terrible intensity. He gave no quarter in
melee, and the blood flowed as quickly as his sword swung in a blurred
arc.
In a matter of moments,
most of the guards were otherwise occupied with a sudden assault of experienced
thieves who poured over the ramparts like rats in the sewer. Unmolested,
we made our way toward the black palace that stood at the other end of
the castle courtyard. It appeared to be a typical structure for its
kind, save for that it was made of a pitch-black stone that glistened in
the moonlight, and a tall tower jutted from the center. There
were no fires burning anywhere to be seen within, not a single candle could
be glimpsed through any of the windows.
Jaysin did not pause
for a moment as he approached the front doors, in fact the rest of the
party had to run to keep up with him. The elf kicked the doors open
violently and screamed: "Sarka! I've come for you!" Then
he, followed by his party, darted inside.
I turned and left
them to their fate. It was probably terrible folly to think that
any of them would live, but such was their choice, and it carried no weight
with me. I returned to the center of the courtyard, and mounted a
gallows that stood there looming like some sort of tired demon. I
climbed atop the gallows pole, and looked about as my men fought with Sarka's
guards. The blood flowed everywhere: atop the ramparts, below me
in the courtyard. Smoke rose suddenly from fires set in the rickety
wooden buildings within the castle walls, and the blood that flowed down
the grey battlements glistened in the firelight. Cries of mortal
anguish and pain floated about the shouts of alarm and the sharp clang
of metal against metal. The smell of burnt flesh and wood mingled
in the air and tickled my nose while the terrible cacophony of battle pounded
on my ears like sweet music.
I took no notice of
who was winning or who was losing this battle, I merely felt myself surrounded
by the violence and mortality of humanity, and I smiled. This scene
of carnage, as hundreds lay dying or wailing in anguish while their comrades
and friends fought still over top of their wasted bodies, as buildings
went up with hungry flames into thick and deadly smoke, all struck me with
a sense of incredible beauty. I felt awed, and inspired.
An owl lighted silently
beside me, and I gave it little notice as it slowly transformed into an
elf in a tattered and travel-worn brown robe. I felt nothing of a
strain on the gallows pole from his weight.
"It's horrible, isn't
it?" Narkim said, his deep, lulling baritone strikingly discordant from
the cacophonous battle. I shook my head.
It was beautiful; I could feel the heat of the fires in my veins, and hear
the dying cries echoing again and again in my mind. I closed my eyes
to listen for a moment.
"You may think it
beautiful, but you must remember that few will see it as you do," Narkim
said. "And you may wonder one day why you find it so beautiful."
I looked at him.
What an absurd thought!
The young elf shook
his head. "It doesn't matter now, though. But you see why I
had you watch Jaysin so closely."
I nodded, and, for
a moment, felt almost grateful.
"You know, he will
someday discover his curse," Narkim said. "And then he will be much
like you."
I paid no attention
to this wizard's drivel any longer. I dismissed him with a wave of
my hand.
"I come and go as
I please, Kae."
I glared at him again
as he said my name.
"And I say as I please,"
the elf said sternly. "I am much like my father, and you must not
forget that."
I began to ignore
him again. A few moments passed in silence between us as the battle
continued.
I heard Narkim shift
to regard the palace behind us. "You should be in there with him
right now," he said.
I looked at the palace,
and shook my head. Its black surface glistened beautifully with the
flames.
I could feel that magic emanated from it like the sun, and I shook my head.
I may have been immortal, but I was not fool enough to try and attack such
a wizard as Sarka.
Narkim closed his
eyes and concentrated. "Yes, you should certainly be in there with
him right now. You would see him approaching a midnight-black door,
his wounded and frightened party far behind him; but he is ignoring his
wounds, that hateful fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever now.
He sheathes his sword, and kicks the door open with the fire growing brighter.
It is completely black inside, not even a single candle lighting the chamber
within. A hideous cackle comes from somewhere in the room, and the
jeer: `You know, my boy, you will never leave this room alive.' Jaysin
grimaces, and then says, `I wish.'"
Suddenly, a terrible
explosion ripped the air, and my eyes grew wide as the top of the tower
that loomed above the palace disappeared in an enormous fireball, bits
of rocks and tongues of angry flames flying in all directions. The
thunderous roar of the fireball rolled across the courtyard and echoed
from the mountaintops like the scream of a god, and magical flames lit
the area like the sun for a brief moment. No living thing could have
escaped that. A silence filled the air behind the rolling roar of
the fireball that could only explain the shock of the guards and the thieves.
"Gods," I murmured.
"They listen not to
you," Narkim reminded me. "But, to him they still give some favor
again." He pointed to a small figure that was kneeling amongst the
black and charred rubble of what remained of the top of the tower.
I looked closely, and to my amazement watched as Jaysin stood, and looked
about with a mournful gaze. His clothes were chared and sooty, and
his wounds dripped with blood, but he was still alive. But like a
broken and defeated slave, he slowly walked down some unseen stairs, and
out of sight. I looked about for anything else, but Sarka was nowhere
to be found.
I looked to Narkim
for some explanation of this miracle, but neither the elf-mage nor his
riddles were to be found. I leapt from the gallows pole to the courtyard
and slowly left the castle. There was no need for me to be here any
longer: Jaysin did not need me any more, nor did my men; instructions had
been left with the commanders to take all they could find, though to not
lay a finger on Jaysin and his company.
The night was black,
and Luna seemed very sad.
Jaysin's defeat that
night, the very mournful look in his eye, has remained imbedded and immovable
in my memory. The look moved me, almost, in a way I had not been
moved for more than a century. There was something that I recognized
in it.
Years later, Narkim's
terrible prophecy came true. On a bitter winter night I sat in the
close warmth of the Dancing Maid, listening, when a small figure wrapped
tightly in winter clothing came slowly in the door. I watched intently
as Jaysin shed layer after layer, and as the light from the hearth and
the few hanging lanterns reached his face, the elf seemed older and older.
There were no lines upon his face, or wrinkles on his cheeks; no, like
most elves, his youth seemed perpetual. But the sadness I had seen
in that castle seemed closer and closer to the surface of his gaze.
He caught sight of
me eventually, and sat at my table. He did not smile, and I could
see that the years had worn on him harshly. He gripped a mug of ale
very tightly and stared at me in silence for a long while. I waited.
"You know, Kae," he
began. "I've seen the Nine Levels of Hell. I have killed dragons
and fought in the thick of wars, and I have been to the depths of this
world, and walked across its tallest mountains, and I have sunk in the
gutter to bleed while the next moment I have lived with the greatest riches
and a hundred men at my beck and call. I have seen things that would
make any man's blood freeze in his veins, and give him the greatest envy
of me."
I doubted not a word
of it. Jaysin was an adventurer, and still is. He has seen
some things that could not be described by the most eloquent bard or the
most base wench. And Jaysin has never been anything but truthful
to me. He of very few have I come to trust.
"But of all the people
that I have ever met," he continued after a sip of his ale, "I like you
the best. You don't give a damn. I couldn't scare you if I
tried, and I couldn't make you envious of anything." There was a
long an awful pause. "And like you, I'm never gonna die."
That mournful look
of realization came to his eyes again, and as I saw it, I nodded.
I had recognized that awful look that night so many years ago: it was the
same one that I carried in the depths of my heart, or what little is left
of it. It is the realization of the blackness of immortality, that
all the universe will someday come to an end, and that there is nothing
grand about lasting beyond the end of anything. There are times when
I tempted to hate Jaysin for relating to me his fate, for making me privy
to such terrible knowledge, but I forgive him this added anguish of mine.
It is little to bear in the face of the centuries, and he has much still
to learn.
Jaysin finished his
ale in silence, stood, and left. There was nothing more to say.
He knew now that I knew and understood. That elf is my only kin.
A corpse is a most
beautiful thing: it has abandoned the world and the world has abandoned
it.