|
|
Chapter VII
For fourteen years
I fooled myself that feelings had died within me. For the majority,
such was true: I felt no compassion, I gave no mercy, I cared for no one.
I became a terrible, black thing with blood-stained hands and a sharp tongue;
I murdered, stole, and assassinated. But I found no happiness in
anything.
Satisfaction, however,
I did find. Each death, each drop of blood upon the street, each
copper piece stolen satiated the thirsty hatred that burned inside me.
I did feel for that decade and a half: I hated, and satisfying that hate
became my sole purpose in life. An ultimate rage burned within me
like the boiling pits of hell, like the wrath of Kraz himself. I
am sure that the god took great joy in me and my actions during those years
as I willingly flung myself into his black embrace. The object of
my hate? Nothing, and everything; it did not matter. The entire
city of Bridgeville, the entire universe, was my victim and the tinder
for the fire of my hatred.
Hate often has little
reasoning. Like most feelings, it is birthed in the irrational throbbing
of the human heart, and meaning and causes are assigned to it by those
with a conscience after the fact. I did not even take this step:
I was rage, pure and total. I was closer to death those fourteen
years than I am now, steeped within the thick blackness of it.
The night was thick
above me as I stood upon the cold, immortal stone of the Bridge.
I gazed upwards, my neck craning and my hands clenched. Luna blazed
above me with a horridly pure and brilliant white light, and her children
clustered about her. I carefully picked out each constellation: Tiborus,
the Bear; Geham, the Great Tree; Kamis, the Druid. I fancied one
day finding my own constellation among the heavens: Rais, the Bloodstain.
A wicked grin snarled my lips, twisting my hirsute and ruddy face.
The soft sound of
a booted foot scraping the stone of the Bridge caused me to flinch and
wrest my sight from Nuin-Covl. I drew my dagger and slid quickly
back into the refuge of the shadows all in one swift and fluid motion,
my eyes nervously flicking about the Bridge. It was full of shadows,
but the man was easy to find.
He moved too quickly,
and his impatience betrayed him. In some mockery of the Watch, or
perhaps a futile show of strength in unity to me, the Guild had given its
thugs and assassins uniforms. Very smart and sleek these black and
blood-red costumes, very imposing to the commonfolk and threatening to
the Watch. For me, it was only simpler to find the Guild fools in
the night.
The man approaching,
quiet as a cat stalking a wary mouse, was gaunt in the face, but well-muscled.
He stood just shorter than myself, who at the age of twenty-three was taller
than most men on the street, but short enough to blend in when the need
arose. The man looked nervously about the Bridge now that he had
lost his quarry to the shadows, his sweating hand tightly clutching the
handle of his sheathed short sword.
They all knew about
me: I was the thief of thieves, the rogue of rogues. The fear of
me had spread through the city like a plague not long after I had made
it my home, and it has remained alive and well for three centuries.
But even in its infancy of fourteen, the Guild's best were wary of me.
This, of course, did not stop the fool Karl from sending periodic assassins
to dispatch of me. I came to think of this as a service I would perform
for him: those whom he found annoying or troublesome were sent to kill
me. The next morning I would promptly hang the would-be assassin's
head outside of Karl's window. At times I hated myself for doing
the Master Thief such a service. But the death of yet another thief
of the Guild never rested poorly with me, and I found providing Karl a
small and occasional favor far preferable to letting them all live.
The man stopped in
the thick of a shadow and waited. I could hear his heavy breath,
and after a moment I could hear the fearful beating of his heart.
He moved again, quiet as a cat, towards me. I stopped breathing so
that he would not hear. Crouched low by the Bridge rampart, and wrapped
tightly with the shadow about me, the man did not see me as he passed.
"Fool," I whispered.
He gasped, and twirled about to see my dagger falling upon him. The
next moment I had plunged the magical blade into his chest and then brought
it up through his jaw. The man fell to the ground without a sound
save the soft thump of flesh against stone. His blood spread upon
the ground like a crimson cloak, and then I melted back into the shadow.
From the shadow
I stared at the body for a while. The head would have to be returned
to the Guild by morning, I thought, but I would have to come for it later.
Presently, I had a rendezvous to keep. I turned and crept silently
away.
He was waiting outside
a tavern, sitting upon the front step and smoking a pipe with a rickety
staff clutched in his thin and bony hand. I doffed my cowl and swiftly
removed my shirt, turned it inside out to reveal a completely different
design, and put it back on. Thus changed, I approached the old man
with an expressionless face.
"I don't do taverns,
old man," I said.
"Afraid of something?"
he said with a smile that unnerved me.
I grasped him by the
collar and lifted him from his seat. "I fear nothing. But I'm
not stupid."
He smiled again, and
I snarled as his gaze unnerved me further. There was something about
his eyes, they were too crystal blue. "Very well then, there's no
need for violence. We will conduct ourselves where you please."
Old fool, I thought,
to let me choose where. But there was something this man had to tell
me before I killed him. I gestured towards the nearest alley, and
there we swiftly walked. Encased in darkness, I felt more at ease.
I could not see the old man's eyes.
"You have a message
for me?" I asked. "Or perhaps a deal?"
"A deal, yes, that's
a good way to put it," he said with a rather evil grin. "I shall
make you a deal that you cannot refuse."
"I can refuse whatever
I wish," I said coldly. "Now let that old tongue of yours wag before
I wag it for you in my hand."
He raised his eyebrows
at the threat, and my gaze let him know that it was not empty. "Very
well, then. I wish you to kill Duke Tryce."
Now it was my turn
to raise the eyebrows, and his to give the assuring gaze. "That involves
quite a substantial risk," I said.
"Nothing that the
greatest thief in the city could not handle, though."
"The greatest thief
in the kingdom, you bag of bones," I corrected.
"No, the infamous
Jack still lives, boy," he said with a wag of his finger. "Are you
claiming to be better than the man who taught you?"
The name of my mentor
lent terrible fuel to my inner fire. I snarled, took the old man's
collar by both hands, and slammed him against the wall. "How is it
you know so much, old man? And where do you get the bravery to taunt
the likes of me?"
He chuckled, a low,
wolf-like sound that sent shivers down my spine. "I know so much
because of my age and my position in Everything, boy. Not that it
matters." He produced a large pouch of coins from his belt and dangled
it before me. "This, however, is what matters."
"Bah," I knocked the
pouch away and let him fall to the ground. "I'll kill the damned
Duke for you without that gold."
"Have I bruised the
rogue's ego?" he taunted.
I turned and glared
at him, my dagger drawn.
"Ah-ah," he said.
"Kill the Duke and I'll make sure that you are handsomely rewarded.
Kill me and you shall be as handsomely punished."
"What fear should
I have of you?" I snarled, and then dove towards him with my dagger.
I have never seen
a man move so swiftly. His hand darted out like a snake to take hold
of my wrist and twist it away so that my dagger blade sunk into the wooden
wall behind him. I found myself staring into old man's wrinkled face,
his crystal blue eyes boring into mine. "Have fear of every power
greater than your own, boy," he said in a tone that left no room for questions.
And in the next breath he had disappeared; only thin air and darkness were
before me where he had stood.
I yanked my dagger
out of the wall, and rubbed my wrist were his grasp had bruised it.
My eyes continued to stare at the space where he had stood. It had
been no phantasm, no infirmity, my bruises were proof of that. I
swallowed hard in thought, and then snarled. "I know you're still
listening," I said to the air about me, and then paused for a moment, thinking.
I licked my lips. "All right then, I'll kill the Duke."
I could find no real
reason why I accepted the job. I had no need of the wizard's money,
nor had I any proof that he was little more than some half-wit apprentice
who was merely playing games with me. No, the fact is that I could
find no real reason not to assassinate Duke Tryce.
I reversed my shirt
to the all-black side, brought my cowl back over my head, and faded away
down the street. The thought of that wizard haunted me as I walked
away: his crystal blue eyes, his thin, blond hair. He had been incredibly
short, and thin, yet had possessed an uncanny strength. He almost
isn't human, I thought to myself.
The thought suddenly
conjured strange and disturbing memories: those of fire and torture and
hideous demons. With a grimace I fought them down into the far recesses
of my mind and there left them to be lost again. I refused to think
of that other life, that dead child.
I shook my head as
if to clear away the haze within. Enough of this, I told myself.
I had a visit to make and a head to deliver before dawn.
I dropped the mutilated
head into a gutter in front of the House of Sabbat and then entered.
The doors were always unlocked, and commonly flung wide open. There
was no wonder, however, that thieves did not make this place a haven of
their craft; there was nothing inside to steal.
I chuckled lightly
to myself as I passed through the foyer into the sanctuary. Such
an adventurous proposition this holy place was: a House of the Sabbath
in heart of the Dark Alleys. Only slightly more absurd - and foolish
- would be such a House in the Dark Quarter of Near Capital. But
there are all kinds of fools and all kinds of the outstandingly brave in
the world. I have never discerned which was Father Kent.
"My good man!" the
priest exclaimed to me, rising from his kneeling prayer. "How good
to see you return."
Father Kent was the
epitome of the good and righteous man in the eyes of the House of Sabbat.
He was jovial, and forever optimistic, but never fooled by circumstances.
He was a calm and peaceful man, but I had seen him once beat off a half-dozen
men with no more than a cudgel. Mainly for that did I respect the
priest. But Father Kent always had a smile for everyone, and it annoyed
me to no end.
I glared at him without
saying a word as he offered his hand in greeting, that ubiquitous smile
stretching his cheeks. Then I looked about the sanctuary. It
was a far cry from the darkness of the Black Chapel of Kraz which stood
outside the city. Here in the House gleaming torches shed light into
every corner; there were no shadows to be found. A few hand-stitched
banners hung on the ceilings, and I marveled that they had not been stolen
yet. It seemed that, perhaps, the thieves of this city had at least
some respect for the holy.
I had none.
I have none. There is no question that the gods exist - I have seen
them myself and I have seen their powers. Before my fateful time
it was pure naivete and ego that made me scoff at the holy. Religion
had no sway with me with its maxims of thought and action, its belief in
that which one could not hold or see. Kraz, of course, was quite
visible and quite tangible. However, nothing but the purest of contempt
and anger poured from me against that deity. Now, I have no fear
any god, for they have all turned away from me forever. And even
if one of them should turn its light or wrath upon me, I have been beaten
down so far by powers greater than even them that I would only laugh at
their mighty efforts.
However, I liked to
visit the House in the Dark Alleys. There was something amusing to
me there: the great irony of my presence within those holy walls.
All the banners and commotion of that place meant nothing to me.
The words that fell like rain from Father Kent's mouth to every ear that
would listen meant nothing also. There was simply an... allure to
House. It passed the time to enter the sanctuary on occasion and
merely sit and watch the pompous ceremonies.
"Not one for talking tonight?" Father Kent ventured, but I had
deemed that he would not get a word from me that night. It was fun
to this, a small form of torture. Once again, I felt that at times
I was doing the Father something of a service: I would test the man's patience
of me. The Father looked at my inquisitively for a few moments.
"All right, then. Goodnight." He began to pray again.
For a little while
I merely stood there in the sanctuary. I had practically memorized
every feature of the sanctuary and foyer; I'd had fourteen years to do
so. My gaze this night rested upon the crucifix which hung on the
wall above the dias at the far end of the sanctuary, a massive wooden watcher.
Once I began to feel
bored, I turned to leave, and I had reached the door when I turned towards
Father Kent. I could not resist, the thought had plagued my mind
the moment I had seen the priest's smile that evening. "Father?"
"Hmm?" he looked up
from his prayers, a hopeful gleam in his eye.
"Father, do you ever
cry?"
The question took
him aback, for he took a long time to answer me: "Aye, my son, I cry when
tears are warranted."
When tears are warranted,
I mused to myself, surprised at the depth of his answer. When were
tears ever warranted?
Squatting upon the
bank of the River Sern I watched the sunrise the next evening. The
tall, dead-grey city walls obstructed my view of the Border Mountains,
but it really did not matter. The burning reds and dark violets that
filled the sky could be seen none the less. The final, dying rays
of the sun shone on a few clouds that floated in the sky upon the brisk
autumn air. The thunderous roar of the river filled my ears as I
watched the sky burn away and Nuin-Covl turn dark. For nearly all
my life I observed this ritual, each and every day was marked by watching
the sun set and rise. The chilling impression of flames had left
me the night I entered Bridgeville for good, but still the fascination
with the dusk and dawn remained from youth.
I drew my dagger and
swirled the blade about in the whipping currents before me. How much
blood had I spilled in my life, I wondered. Enough to turn this great
river red before all was washed away? Enough to fill it? I
laughed at this odd thought and the imagery it conjured. A river
of blood, I thought. How absurd!
Absurd indeed. Now, at the age of more than three centuries
I have spilled enough blood to fill the ocean to its brim. Such stains
will never be removed, nor do I wish them to be. Those stains upon
my hands and my blades have become part of what I am.
Leaning upon the cold
stone of the city wall I waited for darkness to fall completely.
It was only then that I could do what I had come to the Duke's fortress
to do. It was along this stretch of the river that the city wall
doubled as a wall for the fortress, and here that it was easiest to gain
entrance.
It was a cloudy night,
perhaps threatening to rain later; but the clouds were good, I would use
the darkness well. Once I was ready, I began to scale the walls.
Guards upon the ramparts were many, but less than by entrance on the ground.
The Duke took no chances - he knew he had enemies both within the city
and without. Not that such things would hinder me. Once placed
upon a task I worked like an arrow to its target, swift and sure.
I reached the top,
the height of ten men or so from the bank, in a short while, and slipped
into the nearest shadow. However, I knew that shadows along the rampart
were far from fixed - each guard carried a torch on his rounds. The
fact that I had to be swift was always present in my mind, but it pressed
itself hard upon me this night.
I moved silently along the rampart towards the palace, my eyes
darting to and fro, searching for the guard I knew I would encounter eventually.
The night was quiet, too quiet for my nerves to be calm. Guards were
very quiet when they were wary, and there was hardly a sound throughout
the entire fortress.
"Hey!"
The sound sent a jolt
to every muscle in my body. I whirled around to see trio of guards
hurrying after me, weighted down by their armor and weapons. I clucked
my tongue, smiled briefly at them, and took flight. There was not
enough time to waste fighting those three; by the time I would have finished
them their friends would have arrived and then I would have real problems.
They tried to run after me, but it was a useless waste of energy.
I had disappeared into the shadows of the courtyard below by the time they
passed on the rampart.
Their cries of alarm,
however, sped much faster than I could run, and I knew that I would not
have long at all now. I made my way to an open window of the palace
itself and climbed quickly inside. The room, though lighted by a
half-dozen candles, was empty. But, as I breathed a small sigh of
relief, a maidservant opened the door, her arms full of linens.
The scream filling
her throat was never issued from her mouth. I took the dagger from
the young woman's throat and dragged the body into the room. I chided
myself for such a messy job: there was blood now all over the floor of
the chamber. None, luckily, had been spilled in the hallway beyond
the door. I sheathed my still-dripping dagger and moved out into
the hallway. I shut the door behind me as softly as I could.
Torches lit the corridor
that stretched empty before me, banners hanging on the walls every half-dozen
paces. Apparently the cries of panic and alarm had not yet reached
inside the palace, but I wasted no time. I crept silently down the
hallway, peering carefully into each open doorway, and listening at the
closed ones. The Duke was to be found in none of them, and I knew
that time was swiftly growing short. I did not wish to be trapped
on the second story where exits could be more easily blocked, and so did
not take the stairs. But there were too few people anywhere in the
palace for them all not to be congregating somewhere.
Hastily, I searched
for the feastinghall, and found it in only a short while. As I peered
around a corner I saw another trio of guards stationed outside an archway
which I was sure led to the feastinghall. A drunken bard's fumbling
chords and discordant voice floated heavily from the chamber, as did the
soft sound of drunken laughter. The guards, however, had not partaken
of the spirits as their guests had; the men looked about themselves alertly,
and I knew that there was certainly little time to waste.
I swiftly rounded
the corner and dashed towards the guards. My flying dagger struck
one in the chest and he fell to the ground just as my fist connected with
another's jaw, knocking him to the stone floor also. The third guard
stared at me stupidly for a only a moment before I ran his companion's
sword through his bowels.
The next moment I
swept myself into the feastinghall. Nobility was strewn about the
chamber like so much cheap jewelry, deep in a drunken sleep, or about to
nod off. Even the bard was slumped over his lyre on a stool by the
hearth. I stepped over a couple entwined about each other quite enamourously
and made my way directly to the Duke.
The drunken slob rested
heavily upon his large seat at the head of the table which consumed the
entire far end of the room. He rested his head upon a hand with an
elbow supported by the thick arm of his mighty and ornate chair.
He was not asleep, but still fighting away the feigned death. He
opened his eyes slightly as I approached.
"Hello," he slurred,
"what's this? A new jester? My good man, black is not at all
becoming of your station..." His speech dribbled off into babbled
nonsense.
I leapt onto the table,
put a foot onto the tall back of his chair and leaned the Duke backwards.
"Really, my good man,
no need to accost a man for a remark about your wardrobe," the Duke muttered,
hardly opening his eyes.
He reeked of wine
and ale, enough to almost make me sick. His clothing was a mess and
his face blotched with stains. I drew my dagger and held it under
his chin, then lifted his face to look into his eyes. He opened them,
and suddenly had a moment of lucidity. His eyes flung themselves
wide open in panic. "Oh gods," he gasped.
"Don't call for them
now," I whispered as I leaned closer to him. The rank smell of alcohol
on his breath was putrid, but I loved the look of terror in his eyes.
"They're not listening."
The Duke swallowed
hard, his adam's apple brushing the tip of my dagger. "D - don't
kill me," he begged. "I'll give you anything, whatever you want.
Just don't kill me."
I smiled at him wickedly.
"Your highness, you cannot buy me. I want nothing that you may have.
All you may give me is right there in your beady little eyes." They
grew wider in horror. "Yes, yes, just like that. There's a
great fear when you finally look Death in the face, is there not?"
A pause. "Well, answer me."
He nodded slowly.
"Coward," I spat,
and my dagger ripped through his throat. I leaned away, taking my
foot from the back of his chair. The massive seat came back to rest
on all four legs, and the Duke's warm corpse fell into the plate of half-eaten
food before him, his blood spilling about the table and onto the floor.
I jumped back off the table, and looked at the Duchess sitting beside him.
Her was head down upon the table, her arm a perfect little pillow.
Her husband's blood was beginning to puddle near her face. I thought
grimly: hers would be a rude a awakening, indeed.
I turned and slipped
into the hallway, walking calmly but quickly. There is always a wonderful
sense of satisfaction after a murder done well, and I waited just within
ear-shot for the final reward. A few moments after I left the feastinghall
I heard a door open, footsteps approaching the Duke, and then a terrible,
heart-wrenching roar of anguish as some vassal became the first to bear
the terrible news.
The scream fresh in
my ears, I took to flight. The search for the assassin would begin
more quickly than one might believe and especially now I had no time to
waste. I dove back out the window by which I had gained entrance,
and scaled the fortress wall in a few heartbeats. I stopped upon
the rampart, though, staring down at the river churning and roaring in
the darkness. In the fourteen years I had lived beside a river, I
had never learned to swim. Presently, I had neither the time nor
the desire to risk drowning in order to learn the hard way. I began
to run along the rampart, dashing headlong past a couple of guards, and
then another bunch. By the time that I reached a section of the wall
that stood above the city streets, more than a dozen or so of the Duke's
men were in determined pursuit.
I stopped once again
and glanced behind me. Then I smiled to the advancing, angry guards,
and stepped off the rampart. The men gasped collectively as I fell,
and screamed obscenities at me when I landed in a cart piled high with
hay which had been left most conveniently by the fortress wall. I
scrambled out of the cart, waved to the cursing guards above, and then
disappeared into the shadows of the night, running all the way.
I finally rested once
I had made my way hastily out of the nobles' section of the city, in a
small alley beside some inne. The night was still quite young and
there was loud, drunken merriment coming from inside. I sat and leaned
against the inne wall. "Fools, fools each and every one of them,"
said between deep breaths. I was exhausted, but there was a light
euphoria with my heavy breathing. I looked at my hands, one still
clutching the bloody dagger, and smiled. The anger had been satiated.
I felt no happiness, grinning in relief, not joy. It was a mocking
grin, not a happy one.
I laid my head against
the wall and took a long, deep breath. Another night's work had been
done, the fire had been calmed yet again. But already I could feel
it building again with every laugh and joyous yell from within the inne.
It might be fair to
say that I found some pleasure in my work this night, but I guarded myself
carefully against this sentiment. But is it plain to you now the
depths of blackness to which I had fallen? Do you think of me now
as nothing but anger and blackness and evil? You would be right to
think so, it is an accurate judgement. But, you see, it makes no
difference. You know me not, and you could not harm if you did.
And a hundred, or a thousand, or a million years from now you will be little
more than dust beneath my eternal feet.
But my darkness extends
further than I have shown you yet.
I rested there beside
the inne for most of the night, bearing the laughs and merriment inside
with considerable patience. Finally, well after midnight, it began
to rain. I gathered my weary legs beneath me, and began making my
way back to the Dark Alleys and my abandoned spire.
I did not miss the
flutter of motion within the shadows on the street, but ignored the Guild
thieves anyway. In my current state - charged with energy from both
the recent kill and hatred from the celebration inside the inne - I dared
them to attack to me. I felt invincible, and I would prove it given
the chance.
They decided to give
me the chance. Not far from the Bridge, at least a dozen men in sopping
wet Guild uniforms emerged from the alleys and shadows about me.
I stopped and slowly turned a full circle. There were better than
a dozen men as I counted them. I chuckled to myself: another dozen
dead thieves, another dozen heads.
What fool was I.
At a signal from one of them, the thieves each raised a crossbow and took
aim at me. I swallowed hard as I realized just what kind of trouble
I was really in. For a long, cold moment, the only sound was the
heavy autumn rain upon the street and rooftops. Each man glared at
me with cold, calculating anger.
Then I began to laugh.
It was the only thing I could think of to do. My nearly insane laughter
filled the street, mixing with the cold rain. The thieves lowered
their weapons in confusion - and I swiftly turned my heel and ran.
Their leader growled in frustration, and barked after me as each of them
began pursuit.
My flight was blind
panic. All I knew was that away was far safer than any other destination,
which would be dead. I ran for what seemed a wet and dim forever,
my lungs pounding and my legs aching terribly. I had run enough that
night for many weeks of running afterwards. My would-be assassins
could not be shaken, either. It quickly became apparent that they
knew the city as well as I did, which was of no benefit to me at all.
I began thinking that it would take a tremendous stroke of luck to save
me now.
And how that fickle
whore likes to accommodate me. Not long after I realized the near-hopelessness
of my flight, I turned into a random alley and bolted down it, my legs
working completely apart from my thoughts. A moment later, and to
my great despair, I realized that this alley was a dead end, and that my
pursuers would soon be flooding after me. I looked about in blind
panic, desperately searching for something to do or somewhere to go.
Suddenly a door was
flung open, and I leapt backwards, my dagger drawn. There was a slight
gasp from the figure which stood in the doorway, outlined like an angel
by a blinding bright light coming from inside. We both stood frozen
there in the night for some long moments, too shocked to say or do anything.
In a moment I regained my senses and dove inside the doorway, shoving her
inside and slamming the door tight behind me.
"What are you doing?!"
she demanded.
"Quiet!" I snapped
in a whisper, and wrapped my hand across her mouth to be sure she complied.
She seemed too shocked with the action to react, which was just fine with
me.
I put my ear to the door and listened as the Guild thieves poured into
the alley, shouting rude obscenities to each other in their futile search
for me. Suddenly, I thought of the candles which sat upon the table,
lighting the room. "Gods," I cursed, and snuffed them all out with
a single huff.
"I said," she began
in a loud voice, "what are you -"
I merely slapped my
hand across her mouth this time, not wasting the words. Again she
was taken aback by my actions. I put my ear to the door again.
Silence. I waited awhile, still nothing. Finally, I allowed
myself to breath a sigh of relief, and let my hand fall from her mouth.
"I said, what in the
Nine Hells are you doing, bastard?!" she demanded.
I turned and glared
at her, and watched her angry veneer melt in moments.
"Oh, I'm sorry.
Did I offend?"
The question struck
me as extremely odd, and my glare turned to a look of confusion.
Did she offend? To be honest, I thought to myself, she does anything
but. She was a pretty young woman, perhaps a few years younger than
myself, quite slim, but certainly a woman and not a child. She had
long red hair and brilliant green eyes. Her skin was fair, if a little
pale from too much time inside. For the first time in what seemed
forever, I felt attracted to someone. The realization of the sentiment
caught me more off-guard than had her question.
Then I saw that she
was regarding me with the same wondering look. For a long moment
we looked at each other in the near-darkness, marveling at such a sight
and such feelings within our breasts.
She blinked numerous
times, and then looked into my eyes. The act hammered something in
the depths of my soul. No one could ever stand to look me in the
eyes without flinching in fear. And yet, she had done so without
a flinch or thought.
It appeared as if
her mouth was trying to form words, but did not know how. Neither
could I think of anything to say. So, staring at her full red lips,
I did the only thing I could think of to do: I kissed her. She returned
the kiss and suddenly I felt a warmth spread through my entire body.
We broke, and she looked up to me, again meeting my gaze. She was
the only human in years that could do so, and I marveled at it as I drowned
in the greenness of her eyes.
"Come," she said suddenly,
"this way."
I could not but follow
her as she led me out of the kitchen, upstairs and to a door. She
rested against it, pulled me close and we kissed again. I could feel
the warmth filling me, tingling all over.
"Inside," she whispered,
her breath hot with passion.
My hand found the
door handle and we tumbled inside her room. I kicked the door closed
as we fell towards and then onto her bed. The rest of night was a
joyous and chaotic melange of discarded clothing, wonderful crests and
soothing moments of bliss. For those few hours I forgot everything
except her, for that night I escaped not only the Guild thieves, but the
entire hell that I lived. She quenched the raging fire of hatred
within me by building a larger one of passion.
As the first grey
vestiges of the dawn began to seep into her room, we lay contentedly in
her bed, entangled in a beautiful embrace. She sighed and nuzzled
close. Then she giggled lightly, and I actually found the sound pleasing.
"You know," she said, her voice a beautiful and fluid alto, "I don't even
know your name."
I looked at her over
my chin, and smiled. What a ridiculous statement, what use had we
for names? Names did not matter in this universe of two, there was
"you" and "me" and "us", and that was all. But I sighed lightly and
answered her: "Kae. My name is Kae."
"Kae," she repeated.
"That's a nice name, 'Kae'. I like it. Kae what?"
My smile faltered
for a moment as terrible memories teetered on the edge of my consciousness,
but I shoved them away. "Just 'Kae'," I said.
Her smiled widened.
"Just 'Kae'." She wrinkled her nose in a way that I can only describe
as 'cute'. "Well, 'Just "Kae"', I'm Melanie. Melanie Truebridge."
"Good morning, Lady
Truebridge," I said with a smile.
"Don't you dare address
me like my mother," she scolded with a wide smile. "I'm just Melanie
to you, Kae."
I could not help but
laugh. "Very well, then. Good morning, `Just Melanie'."
"Good morning, Kae."
She smiled again and snuggled closer.
The meaning of those
words slowly dawned upon me. "Gods!" I started, sitting straight
up in bed. "It's morning!"
"So it is," Melanie
said. "But don't worry, my parents won't be awake for a long time,
it's far too early. And my nurse would never tell."
"You don' get it,"
I said. "I gotta get outta here." In my sudden start, my language
had slipped back into the gutter-talk of my youth. I stood out of bed and
began searching for my clothes.
"No," Melanie said
as she took hold of my arm. "You 'gotta' come back to bed.
It's cold in here without you."
I shook the hold away
with ease. "No, little girl, you do not understand. I must
leave."
She looked at me with
the purest hurt in her eyes. If it was an act I could not tell, and
I felt the alien sentiment of guilt. My face softened as I took her
cheeks in my hands and kissed her. "When I have more time, I will
explain," I said. "But presently, I do not."
She took hold of my
hands still on her soft, warm cheeks. "Then you'll be back."
I spoke exactly my
thoughts: "There is no question."
She kissed me again,
excitedly, and fell back into the bed while I gathered up my clothes.
"Kae, you're wonderful," she said as I finished dressing.
I looked at her, her
gaze once again meeting mine. The reality of everything had been
slowly seeping back not my thoughts as I had been dressing. You would
not say that, I thought, if you knew. But I merely smiled at her,
and then opened her window and was gone.
Over the next few weeks
my times with Melanie became moments of escape from the hell of my life.
In the wonderful heat of passion the rest of the universe would fall away.
I could drop my guard, let the hatred that gave me life die. In place
of all the blackness I found the purest light. Melanie's naivete
and innocence where disarming, and I would allow myself to enter her world
with no murderers or thieves. All was passion and joy.
But this exploration
of a new world, this escape, was a double-edged sword. The moment
I first left her window I knew that I could not let the two worlds mix.
Melanie in her noble surroundings and utter innocence would never accept
me as the thief that I was. Neither could I let thoughts of Melanie
and my place of escape haunt me while I prowled my darker universe; I would
soon become addicted to it like some drug, and such would certainly lead
to my downfall and death. No, for the rest of that autumn I lived
as two separate men. While I was in one world, the other was not
allowed to exist.
My explanation to
Melanie of my necessary and often hasty partings: I was an adventurer,
which was a convenient half-truth. I was allowed to disappear for
days at a time with little explanation, just the required tale of my latest
excursion upon my return. It became a sort of game to me, creating
the stories as I sat there in her room, her sweet and natural perfume filling
my lungs. She never once questioned me in depth, we had far more
important things to fill our time. Sex, however, was not a constant,
though I avoided conversation. Often we would sit upon the roof or
by her window, gazing at the heavens and enjoying the silence filled with
the other's presence. It was a time of euphoria and ecstacy.
And the moment I left
her presence the feelings would die again within me. Like the snuffing
of candle, I would instantly return to being the black and murderous thief
I had become.
The cold air bit sharply
at my cheeks as the wind howled through the near-empty streets. The
sky above was a pure and unclouded blue, like some sort of crystal.
It was perhaps only a week before the winter solstice, and the times were
again about to become difficult indeed. A noise from an alley I was
passing startled me. I turned swiftly, my dagger drawn and ready.
The old man stood at the lip of the alleyway, clothed in the rags as before,
his bony hand clutching the staff. A snarl curled my lips, and I
sheathed my dagger. "I thought I might never have the pleasure of
your company again, old man," I said as I approached.
"On the contrary,"
he said. "I have yet to give you your handsome reward."
"I want no money."
"It is not money that
I am offering you as reward, boy," he said. "It is advice."
I laughed. "What
advice could you possibly have for me, you bag of bones?"
He smiled thinly and
shook his head. "Do you still not recognize me, Kae?"
My laughter stopped
dead, and there was a heavy silence between us. "How in the Nine
Hells did you know my name?" I demanded.
"I know many things
about you, Kae," he replied. "Perhaps I know more about you than
you do."
I drew my dagger.
"What kind of trick is this?" I looked about me, ready for the ambush.
"This is no trick,
boy," the old man said sternly. "Listen to me well, Kae. You
will win the war. But some battles must be lost before the war can
be won." I froze. "You are about to lose one of those battles."
I stared at Stepan
in utter fright. "Oh gods," I whispered. "Oh gods."
He shook his head.
"Do not call for them now. They are not listening." I froze
again, his words resounding in my head like some terrible prophecy.
Stephen took me by the arm. "Listen to me, Kae, listen well.
We each speed head-long towards our separate and collective destinies.
Brace yourself for yours, for like your life it will not be pleasant."
And in a moment he was gone again.
I stumbled backwards,
away from the spot where he had been standing, staring at the empty air.
"Oh gods," I continued to mutter. "Oh gods." I backed into
a wall, and suddenly slumped to the ground. Stephen's appearance
had ripped open a hole in a dam I had placed upon a multitude of memories.
I closed my eyes and fought hard to keep them at bay. Images of fire
and blood and silent screams filled my mind. I screamed within my
head, the hurt pouring like blood from an open wound. Kraz's demonic
visage floated through my vision, the deep green pools of Leila's eyes
drowning in terrible pillars of fire; Dymancil's horrible figure
as it towered over us, and the look of desperate panic on Kes' face as
she sunk into the ground surrounded by that magical sphere.
Finally, the scream
in my mind erupted in my throat and passed my lips. I lurched forward
to my knees and screamed all the pain away. I screamed for my life.
Finally, my throat torn and scratchy, the horrible memories stopped, and
I opened my eyes.
"Melanie," I whispered
desperately to myself, and ran as fast as I possibly could down the street.
"Melanie." I leapt to her window sill and fairly burst in through
the window.
"Kae!" she exclaimed
as I buried myself in her embrace. She held me tight as I tried to
dry my sobs. "Kae, what's the matter?"
"Terrible things,"
I whispered. "Terrible things you must not know."
She fell thankfully
silent, merely holding me close and caressing my shoulder in comfort.
A long time passed in utter silence. Finally, I drew myself away,
my eyes finally dry. There was look of terrible confusion and pity
in her face.
I could not
bear to look at her. I had not fully made the transition from one
world to the next, the spectre of my past haunting the fringes of my thoughts.
I could not reveal this Kae to Melanie. I looked out the window to
avoid her gaze. "There is something I want to show you," I said.
"Come, outside." We climbed quickly out the window and onto the roof.
"What?" she asked,
looking about her in amazement. She always loved the view from her
roof. She had likened it to looking at the city from the heavens.
"There," I said, pointing
to the western horizon. The sunset was blazing in full glory, setting
the sky ablaze with deep reds and purples.
"It's so beautiful,"
she exclaimed.
"The sky is burning,"
I said.
"That's so poetic,"
Melanie said, turning towards me and drawing me close. "You're wonderful,
Kae."
I kissed her.
Hard.
We broke and she looked
into my eyes, an action which still amazed me. "I love you, Kae."
I paid no attention,
but kissed her again. If there were any time that I needed escape,
it was now. Give me escape, dear gods, give me escape.
I would not realize
until only shortly later that Stepan had been right: they were not listening.
I stood upon the Bridge,
gazing up again at the heavens. Luna beamed down as only a thin sliver,
but in the darkness that surrounded the Bridge at night she looked like
the brightest gem. The stars were out in full glory that winter night,
brilliant little diamonds upon the blackness of Nuin-Covl. I rubbed
my arms to keep myself warm as I waited, my breath forming thick white
clouds before me. It was the winter solstice: the longest night of
the year, and I felt uneasy that Melanie had wanted to meet me upon the
Bridge on this particular night. Tonight was traditionally the Night
of Thieves, and the official beginning to the great, merciless hardship
that is winter.
I had managed to take
Stephen and all the memories he conjured out of my thoughts for past few
days, forgetting him and his crazy prophecies completely at times.
I had convinced myself that he was a lunatic, his words could not possibly
have any real bearing upon my life.
The soft sound of
a light tread alerted me to Melanie's arrival. I turned slowly, and
watched her approach. She meandered slowly towards me, swaying her
hips seductively, which warmed me despite the cold. Finally, she
reached me, leaned forward to give me a light peck on the lips, and then
suddenly presented me with a flower. I was surprised by the gesture,
and I gasped when I took a good look at the flower.
It was a black rose.
"Well, take it, silly,"
Melanie said.
I took the proffered
gift. "W - where did you get this?" I stammered.
"Father has a greenhouse,
and he likes to grow little oddities like that." She leaned forward
and kissed me again.
I let my shock melt
away with the warmth of her lips and the closeness of her body.
Sometimes I wish that
he hadn't stepped on that patch of gravel. At the noise I whirled
about, dagger drawn and ready, as the rose fell to the ground like an angels's
feather.
"Very good," Jack
said. "I'm so proud."
"You," I sneered.
"Kae," Melanie said,
"who's this?"
"Jack," he answered.
"Master Jack Bhyd, at your service."
"Master of what?"
I spat. "A bunch of little brats still?"
Jack chuckled.
"Come, my prize, you know me better than that. All those little brats
are your age or better now. We run Nyr Kohpitol now."
Now I laughed.
"That will be the day, Jack. That will be the day."
"What, do you doubt
me?" We began to circle each other, daggers drawn, muscles taut and
ready.
"Kae, what's going
on?"
I did not answer her.
I had far worse worries than Melanie presently. "What in hell are
you doing here? I know you wouldn't waste the time for just a social
visit."
Jack laughed again.
"So true, Kae, so true. No, I'm here for your head and that alone."
Circling, ever so slowly circling. "You see, it seems that you've been
a great terror and menace for a long time in this city. To put it
in your terms, you've been a general thorn in the King's ass for fourteen
years."
I smiled.
"Not," Jack continued,
"that I have anything against that. As a matter of fact, I'm quite
proud of you." We began to slowly circle each other; the motion was
alost hypnotic: circling, ever so slowly circling. "But it
seems that lately you've gone and assassinated the Duke of this city.
Well, that tore it for the King. So, to dispatch of you, he sent
out for me, the best thief in the Kingdom -"
"That," I said, "remains
to be seen."
"Ah, yes. It
seems that you've taken claim to that title, now, haven't you?"
"And rightly so, old
man," I said. Circling, ever so slowly circling.
"Kae," Melanie said
again. "What the hell is going on?"
We had circled enough
to have practically switched places, and suddenly I realized my folly.
Jack darted for Melanie like a snake, and in a moment he had tightly wrapped
her close, his dagger upon her throat. "Oh, please don't scream,
my dear lady," Jack said. "You see, this is a private party for just
your lover and myself. No uninvited guests." Melanie remained
quiet. "Very good. Thank you, dear lady."
"Jack, if you think
taking a hostage is going to work," I said, "you've lost your touch."
Jack laughed.
"No, my prize, a hostage I have not taken. An empty receptacle for
your history, that I have."
"Kae," Melanie whimpered.
"Jack," I said, "you
are darker than I remember you."
"It comes with age,
Kae," he said. "Now, dear lady, did you know that your lover there
is a thief? Yes, quite so, no matter what he's told you before, he's
a thief plain and simple. He's also a murderer, assassin, and general
degenerate outlaw.
"Do you know how I
know? No, of course you don't. You see, dear lady, I raised
that boy over there. I taught him everything he knows. I took
him under my wing and showed him things that no other man could ever learn.
Everything that this boy knows of the shadows of the city, of picking pockets,
of the art of using that dagger he's holding, he learned from me!
I was there when he stole for the first time. I was there when he
killed for the first time."
"And you were there
to throw me to the jackals and hounds of the Guild, you filthy bastard!"
I roared. "You were there to throw me like a side of beef to those
hungry mongrels to die!"
"Ah, but you lived,"
Jack said. "And I knew you would. You have this spirit that
cannot die."
"I swore then that
I'd kill you, you sonofabitch!" I screamed. "And I'm going to keep
that oath!" I ran head-long towards him, screaming at the top of
my lungs.
Jack shoved Melanie
to the side and bid me approach with his hands. I stopped just short
of his dagger's reach and smiled at him. "Come, Jack, you know me
better than that." With a lightning-quick motion my hand snaked out
and struck the man square in the jaw. Jack stumbled backwards from
the blow, and from that moment I knew I had won.
Not that my mentor
was going to concede quite so easily. He lunged at me, with an obvious
feint to the chest. I blocked his fist to the head and then slammed
the hilt of my dagger into his back as he passed. Jack stumbled forward,
then turned and snarled at me.
"The first rule of
combat," I said, "is to remain calm at all times."
"The prize remembers
his lessons."
"The prize remembers
many things."
Jack lunged at me
again, an awkward thrust that extended his weapon arm much too far.
I twisted out of the way of his snake-like stab, and then brought my dagger
down on his wrist. His dagger-hand fell neatly away to the ground
as Jack's groan of pain mingled with Melanie's scream of horror in the
cold night air. I grasped Jack by the hair and turned him to face
me.
"How does it feel,
you traitoring son of a bitch?!" I roared into his face. "How does
it feel to be helpless?" I lifted him by the hair off the ground.
His feet dangled helplessly free in the air.
"Kae!" Melanie yelled.
"Kae, gods, what are you doing?!"
I paid her no heed.
"Remember this feeling while you rot in Hell, you bastard!" I drove
my dagger deep into Jack’s chest, then let him fall to the cold stone bridge.
He flailed about for a few last moments, and then was still. I spit
on the corpse.
And so it ends, I
thought. It was the only way.
Melanie was crying,
she was sobbing. Her tears struck me as odd. I had returned
to the numbness I felt after the fire had been satisfied, and tears where
never warranted then. I stared at her for a long time while she bawled,
completely uncomprehending. Tears were not warranted.
Slowly, ever so slowly
the numbness faded, and guilt began to creep in. The more the sound
of Melanie's sobs assailed me, the more I felt that terrible dagger blade
of guilt turn within myself. I looked at her incredible beauty in
the dim light, surrounded by the beauty of the winter night.
And suddenly I realized
that I loved her.
"Melanie," I said.
"Is it true?" she
asked, finally looking at me. Her tears and cheeks were a deep red
from the tears. "Is true what he said?"
I closed my eyes,
bit my lip, and nodded. "Yes," I heard myself say. I could
lie to her no longer. "Yes, it's true."
She began her wailing
anew.
"Melanie," I said,
and took a step towards her. Oh, if had only staid put! "Melanie,
please, stop crying."
"I - I can't," she
stammered through her sobs. "I - I'm so confused."
"Melanie." I
took another step towards her.
She leaned back upon
the rampart, almost sitting upon it. "I - I don't know what I..."
I took another step
forward, and suddenly she looked up. "No!" she cried. "Stay
back! Stay away, you!"
I stopped with a confused
and puzzled look on my face. "But-"
She backed away up
the rampart. She was standing upon it now. "You lied to me,
you bastard! You've been lying to me for all this time! I love
you, and you lied to me!" She began to teeter in her rage, swaying
back and forth.
My eyes grew wide
with terror. "Melanie!" I watched helplessly as she finally
lost her balance and fell over the edge into the river below. "Melanie!!"
I screamed as I ran to the rampart and peered down into the rumbling darkness
below. She was nowhere to be seen. My dearest love had disappeared
forever. "Melanie!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "MELANIE!!"
The scream echoed off the lifeless city walls, back and forth too many
times to count, each time amplifying my grief.
My legs faltered beneath
me, and I fell to my knees. Suddenly, tears were warranted: I wished
to cry. I wanted to sob for a deep and dark eternity, but found that
I could not. I strained with all my strength to force a tear, but
none would come. Fourteen years of dead feelings had dried all the
tears within me.
I sat sprawled upon
the cold stone of the Bridge in utter and total shock. Then I saw
the black rose she had given me, lying like some discarded toy upon the
cold stone. With shaking hands I grasped it, and held it close.
Its thorns pierced my palm, and blood poured down to strike the ground
like the cold winter rain.
After a long, long
while, the dawn-light began to drive away the darkness of the night.
I stood to look to the east. Until the sun crested the horizon I
stood motionless, watching. When the sky began to burn once more,
stepped upon the rampart, letting the rose fall back to the stone.
I gave the dawn one last look, and then, arms spread wide like a black,
broken angel, I plunged head-long into the River Sern, praying that it
would swallow me like it had Melanie.
The impact was hard,
and the sudden coldness shocked me straight through to my bones.
There was a sudden panic as my lungs began to fill with not air but water,
but I swiftly fought it down.
I thanked the gods
when came the blissful, absolute blackness.