The Beggar's Past

by J B Drake

  Weighton smiled. “Agril told me many things of interest in the time I knew him. He loved an audience, that gnome. Once, he told me there’s a limit to how much arcane energy mortals can channel at any given moment. That limit varies across races, and even between mortals of the same race, but if you channel more than your limit, the energy will eat away at you. Oh, many artifacts abound that can increase the limit, but none can remove it. And most importantly, that limit grows as the body matures, meaning the amount of power Tien’razul can channel through Terril the boy is but a fraction of what he can channel through Terril the man, and with what I’ve seen of that demon, I cannot allow him gain the body of a full-grown man.”

  “So you’ll keep killing him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Over and over again.”

  “Yes.”

  “Till when?”

  “Till I know how to free Terril’s soul and banish that creature once and for all.”

  “So, banish it!”

  “What?”

  “Banish the thing! Get a priest! Why resort to killing? Just banish this thing back to where it came!”

  Weighton took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. Terril’s body is not his, it belongs to Tien’razul. Which means any banishment ritual would see Terril’s soul as the invader.”

  Marshalla could only stare.

  “Yes.” Weighton sighed once more.

  “Wait,” Marshalla said, her gaze darkening greatly. “You mean to say you could’ve ended all this in the first place if you’d banished that thing instead of taking Terril’s head?”

  Weighton smiled. “You weren’t there the first time I challenged him. You didn’t see what I saw. Had we tried a banishment ritual, he’d have slaughtered us all before the ritual took hold.”

  “You craven bastard…”

  “You weren’t there, my dear.”

  “I don’t need to have been there to smell your horse-shite! You were to afraid to try!”

  Weighton sighed at the seething red-head. “Think what you will, but we are where we are. I wish things were different, I truly do, but they’re not.”

  “He doesn’t deserve this!”

  “No, he doesn’t, and not a day’s gone by when I haven’t wished I could undo all I’ve done.”

  Fighting back the tears, Marshalla turned to the central pedestal once more, shaking her head as she did so.

  “Now you know my tale,” Weighton said after a spell. “And now, I must ask you something.”

  “What?” Marshalla muttered, turning to him once more.

  “Where is he?”

  Marshalla fell silent as a cold hand gripped her insides once more.

  “You have a pure heart, child,” Weighton continued. “You care for him a great deal, you wish to protect him. But I’m not your enemy. Nor am I Terril’s. I understand his suffering, more than anyone. He doesn’t deserve this, and I can help him.”

  “You’ll kill him.”

  “I’ll give him peace, for a time.”

  Marshalla glared in silence at the lich.

  “Where is he, girl?” Weighton said, taking a step closer. “Please. Let me release him.”

  Marshalla said nary a word.

  “Very well,” Weighton sighed after a spell, “you leave me no choice but to…”

  Just then, hurried footsteps reached the pair, and as they turned, a guard hurried into the room.

  “The Jackdaw leader’s here, sir,” the guard said.

  “About bloody time.”

  “Here?” Weighton frowned.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard nodded. “And he’s not alone.”

  “What does he want?”

  “An audience, sir.”

  “What about?”

  The guard shrugged. “He wouldn’t say, save that it’s something you and he would both benefit from. He’s waiting in the second guest room.”

  The old man stared at the guard for a spell, then turned to Marshalla.

  “Show the girl to her quarters,” he said.

  “At once, sir,” the guard bowed, then marched towards Marshalla.

  “I think it’s time we left this accursed place, don’t you?”

  Marshalla stared at the human head that was Terril’s.

  “Yes,” she thought, “Well past time.” And, glaring briefly at Weighton, the young red-haired girl followed the guard out of the room, her gaze forward and her fists clenched.

  Anise fidgeted on her bed as she stared at the guards seated afar from her, or rather, the youngest of the guards, the one who’d stood beside Marshalla earlier. There was a difference in the boy’s actions, a slight sluggishness she’d noticed once before in a noble’s maid, but had made the mistake of disregarding.

  “What are you up to, Ani?” she whispered as her eyes narrowed. “What’re you planning?”

  But, try as she might, she couldn’t see the chronodragon’s plan, for the boy was a poor choice for a thrall, at least amongst the guards present.

  “What do you see that I don’t?” she muttered. “What are you up to?”

  Just then, a knock came at the door. As one, all three guards fell silent.

  “A little early for a guard change, isn’t it?” one of the guards frowned.

  “Aye.” Another nodded as he frowned at the door.

  “Who is it?” he barked.

  “Guard change,” a voice returned, and from the look on the two guards’ faces, it was a voice neither recognised.

  As one, all three stood, staring at each other, then the two older guards headed for the door, the youngest standing where he was.

  “Bit early for a guard change, isn’t it?” the first called out, his hand upon his blade’s hilt.

  “We go where we’re told,” the voice replied. “Weighton said we go guard somewhere, we go.”

  “There’s four of you, then?” the second guard asked, his hand also upon his blade.

  “Four?” the voice replied.

  So engrossed were the two guards in discerning the identity of those beyond the door that neither noticed the third as he turned and began making his way towards Anise, runic keys in one hand and a drawn blade in the other. Nor did they notice the azure glow about his eyes, or the deep smirk upon his lips.

  But Anise noticed, the young guard’s march drawing her from her bed and towards the edge of her cell, a smile upon her lips. Then, as the young guard reached her, he smiled.

  “It’s time for the Crimson Blade to make an appearance, don’t you think?” he said, then stepped to the side as he touched the wall beside Anise’s cell with the runic key.

  Anise stared from her cell door to her jailer.

  “Or would you rather die here?”

  “Jax, what’re you doing?” one of the guards yelled.

  Anise turned her gaze to the guards by the door, then back to young Jax.

  “You’re welcome,” the young jailer smiled, nodding at Anise as the azure glow faded from his eyes.

  “Hunh?” he added once himself again, his brow furrowed deep.

  But it was too late, the Crimson Blade was freed, and in that moment, Anise swung her cell door wide, the edge missing young Jax by a hair’s breath just as the enormity of what he’d done dawned on the him, and as his eyes grew wide, Anise lunged for his blade, wrenching it free from his grip and plunged it through his heart, killing him before his body hit the floor.

  “No!” the second guard cried as he drew his blade.

  “Well?” Anise smirked when neither guard moved. “Are you coming for me, or shall I come for you?”

  Both guards stared at each other for a spell, then as the first guard darted forth, the second lunged for the keys upon the guards’ table.

  “Crimson Blade is free!” the second guard yelled as he fumbled for the main door key. “Sound the alarm, Crimson Blade is free!”

  “Damn it,” Anise spat, then raced for the door.

  But the first guard barred her way,
meeting her advance with drawn steel, and as the pair danced, the second guard fought to open the door.

  Then, just as Anise ended the first guard, the second guard unlocked the door.

  “Take the key!” he cried as he opened the door wide enough to throw the key through.

  “Crimson Blade is…” he continued, but his words were cut short by a hand that had darted through the small opening he’d made, a hand that wielded a thin blade that was now buried deep into his chest.

  As the hand drew the blade free, the guard staggered back before crumpling to the ground, his face a mask of utter confusion.

  “I was wondering when you’d…” Anise began, a smile upon her lips.

  But her words soon faded from her lips, for as she spoke, the door flew open and two pirates sauntered into the room. Anise stared at the two men, her smile replaced by a deep and fierce scowl.

  “Should’ve known you’d find a way to free yourself,” one of the men smiled, “but Byron wants a word. He’s got a proposition for you.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Then, you’re stupid,” the second man said.

  “Look,” said the first pirate. “If Byron wants you dead, he’ll just cosy up to Weighton and have the old bastard do it. Come and hear what he says. You don’t like it, you can bugger off back where you came. Simple.”

  Anise stared from one to the other.

  “Just like that?”

  The first pirate shrugged. “Not much point any of us hanging round Kirsk anyhow.”

  “Very well,” Anise said at last,. “Lead on.”

  “Good,” the first pirate nodded, then led the three from the prison.

  Barely had they gone ten paces, however, when they stopped and the two pirates turned to face Anise.

  “Were you truly considering that offer?” the first pirate said as his face, and then whole person morphed into that of a young silver-haired woman.

  “You!” Anise cried.

  “Hello again, Grace,” the second pirate said as he too began to morph.

  “Lucius!” Anise gasped. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Nevermind all that,” Amala replied, then turned to Lucius. “You’d best head back before you’re missed.”

  “Right,” Lucius nodded, then turned to Anise.

  “Like old times, eh?” he smiled.

  Anise didn’t smile. Instead, she stared at the pirate with eyes filled with pain.

  “I left you behind, Lucius, and that was wrong of me,” she said. “Will you forgive me?”

  At her words, the smile upon Lucius’s lips faded.

  “We do not have time for this!” Amala hissed as she turned to Anise. “And besides, Lucius knows you didn’t mean to leave him behind. He—”

  “Yes, I did,” Anise said, her gaze upon Lucius.

  “Oh, for the love of…!”

  “I needed someone to be the target of Luther’s rage so he wouldn’t come after me right away,” Anise continued. “Worst thing I’ve ever done, and it’s haunted me like nothing else. I shouldn’t have done that to you when all you did was be my friend.”

  A tense silence fell upon the three.

  “You know, just about convinced meself you forgot,” Lucius said at last, “that you was so busy getting away you didn’t stop to think of little old me. Should’ve known better.”

  “Lucius, I—” Anise began.

  “You really was a monster when you was Crimson Blade, Grace, but this… Not sure I can ever forgive Blade for this.”

  “Wonderful,” Amala muttered as she tensed.

  “But you stopped being her, though, right? When you got out I mean.”

  Anise nodded.

  “Good,” Lucius nodded. “Let her die, Grace, and we’re even.”

  Anise smiled and nodded. “Deal.”

  “Good,” Lucius grinned, then hurried off.

  “Thank the gods for that,” Amala sighed as she relaxed, then turned to leave. “Come on, then.”

  “Amala, what’s—”

  “Enough dawdling,” Amala interjected. “We need to get out of here and fast.”

  “No, wait,” Anise shook her head. “We need to find—”

  “Marsha and her shade friend are already making their way to the meeting point as we speak. If you keep dawdling like this, they’re going to leave without us!”

  “Shade?”

  “You know who I mean!”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Right! Now, shall we?”

  Grinning, Anise nodded. “Let’s.”

  “Good. Oh! First, tell me…”

  “What?”

  “You weren’t truly thinking of talking to Byron were you?”

  Anise’s grin dimmed as she stared at the vampire.. “I was planning to let you two lead me to safety, then kill you both and go look for Marsha.”

  Amala smiled.

  “I’m liking this Crimson Blade more and more,” she said, then turned and hurried down the corridor, a bemused Anise in tow.

  Marching down the corridor before him, the human that was Daniel Weighton did little to hide his disgust, the scowl upon his lips silencing all the guards around him. None dared to so much as share a glance, the air about them heavy and oppressive. It was in that silence that they all marched, all eyes forward and jaws set, a silence that was soon shattered by the sound of hurried boots upon the stone floor.

  “Sir,” panted a guard as he ran towards Weighton.

  Stopping, the human turned.

  “What is it, Magnus?” Weighton frowned.

  The man that was Magnus went down on one knee as he reached his master, his head bowed low.

  “Forgive me, sir, but I have grave news.”

  The frown upon Weighton’s lips deepened. “What?”

  “The…” Magnus swallowed hard.

  “Magnus…?”

  “The Crimson Blade has escaped, sir.”

  The silence returned, this time weighing heavy upon the Magnus alone.

  “What did you say?”

  Magnus bent his head low. “Crimson Blade has escaped sir, she—”

  “When?” Weighton cut in. “How?”

  “We’re not sure when precisely, sir,” Magnus replied.

  “How in the—”

  “It only came to light during the last guard change.”

  “Any survivors?”

  Magnus looked up at his master. “Adrian survived, sir.”

  “Just him?”

  “Yes, sir,” Magnus replied, “though the menders can’t say if he’ll see the next sunrise.”

  “Damn it all,” Weighton snarled. “How in the hells did she get out?”

  At this, Magnus’s face darkened. “Adrian was delirious when we found him, sir, but he was able to tell us two men helped her escape. They were dressed as pirates.”

  “What?”

  Magnus nodded. “They freed Crimson Blade to take her to Byron.”

  Weighton took a step forward. “What did you say?”

  Swallowing hard, Magnus lowered his gaze.

  With his snarl growing, Weighton turned to one of the guards, the one who’d brought him word of Byron’s arrival.

  “Are Byron and his men under guard?”

  “N…no, sir,” the guard stammered. “They’re here as guests.”

  “Are you m—”

  “Sir, you gave us standing orders a long time ago; always treat your guests with respect till told otherwise, regardless of who they are!”

  Weighton stared hard at the guard as he wilted where he stood, then he turned to Magnus once more.

  “Find her,” he said. “Take as many men as you need, but find her. Bring her to me, alive if you can.”

  Magnus nodded as he rose.

  “At once, sir,” he said, then spun about and raced off to carry out his master’s bidding.

  Weighton watched him race off for a moment, then marched forth himself. It was high time he settled things with the Jackdaws.

&nbs
p; The pirate Byron paced about the room, his gaze upon the door and his arms crossed behind him. As he paced, his men watched him close, their gazes a mix of wonder and irritation.

  “You marching up and down’s not going to make the old bastard show up sooner,” one of the pirates said at last. “Sit down, man.”

  Byron stopped to levy a withering glare upon the insolent pirate, then resumed his pacing.

  “Ugh!” the pirate cried, then slumped in his chair.

  “And just what’s biting your arse, then, eh Boris?” Byron spat, facing the pirate square. “Is it your legs I’m using?”

  “He’s just mad little Lucius got the better of him, is all,” another pirate said.

  “What did you say?” Byron snarled, glaring at the upstart.

  “Cool it, boys,” a third pirate spoke up. “Byron’s got every reason to be riled up at the little shite’s play.”

  “Aye,” the outspoken pirate growled. “What’s the little gobshite even thinking? He really think we’ll let him take over Jackdaws just like that?”

  “Aye,” the third pirate added. “Stupid little bastard. Old Luther must’ve knocked a screw or two loose.”

  “Aye,” Boris snickered. “Only way that shite’ll think he can take Jackdaws from Luther’s own blood and we’ll just sit there and watch him do it.”

  At these words, the air filled with laughter and snickers. But there was one within the room who wasn’t laughing, one whose mind had just shown him the enormity of his stupidity.

  “Boys…” Byron said.

  As the pirates turned to their leader. the look in his eyes wiped all mirth from their lips and their hearts.

  “I want each of you to see in your heads the face of every single Jackdaw you know will stand with us no matter what,” Byron added. “See their faces right now.”

  The pirates stared at each other a spell, then at their leader.

  “Byron, what you on about?” Boris asked.

  “See their faces, boys,” Byron replied.

  “Alright, we see their faces,” another pirate said. “So what?”

  “Any of them not in this room?”

  To some, the question seemed inane, to others, it spoke of an amazing coincidence. To one, however, it spoke a terrifying truth.