When the Baron reached the counter, the man flinched, the mug crashing onto the floor behind him.
Snapping his cane on the quivering Innkeeper’s hand, the Baron snarled, ‘I believe I’m expected.’
The Innkeeper winced, still avoiding eye contact, and inclined his head in the direction of a pair of barrels, sitting beside the counter, their contents leaking slowly onto the floor.
Approaching them, the Baron noticed that the excess liquid didn’t spread across the surface but into cracks in the floor. On closer inspection, he noticed, obscured between a pair of barrels, a rusty metal grip - a trapdoor.
After kicking the barrels aside, the Baron took off his right glove and carefully placed his thumb and index finger on the grip and pulled. There was a creaking noise and a breath of cold air greeted him. With a grimace, he pushed it open and clambered down the ladder that lay before him.
Why had The Shadow decided to come in person? On many occasions before an envoy had sufficed, what had changed this time? Perhaps this was a herald of good fortune for their organisation, or of trouble.
Something stirred by his feet when he reached the ground. Lashing out with his foot, the rat was launched into a wall before scurrying away into the darkness. It was here among the numerous dust veiled barrels and rats that the pungent smell had reached its sickening potential, clinging to the Baron’s nostrils and throat. Standing entirely out of place was a large circular table positioned right in the middle of the cellar. A small candle, planted in the middle, illuminated the table and the men who sat around it impatiently, half-empty glasses of wine sitting in front. At his arrival, the servants who had been updating the fill of the glasses scurried away, and all the weary eyes of the table turned towards him.
‘Ah, Baron!’ exclaimed a man with an eye patch and an assortment of scars, ‘we thought you would never come.’
‘Unlike you Vervanis, I have had important matters to attend to,’ the Baron sneered.
‘Indeed,’ said another, ‘shall we begin?’
‘No, not yet Reez, I can see that the Baron is practically bouncing in his seat to ask us something,’ the man with the eye patch said with a mischievous grin.
The Baron glared at the man, ‘you would not be so impudent were The Shadow here, Vervanis.’
Vervanis did not immediately reply. His one remaining eye twitched and he raised an eyebrow questioningly, ‘and where is he? None of us saw him on our way here.’
‘Presuming as always, Vervanis,’ a voice rang through the cellar.
The room had suddenly gone silent, no one dared to blink. The Baron shivered involuntarily, as if ice had been caressed down his spine.
The Shadow stepped into the light, his arms curled behind his back. His dark, hooded robes that trailed behind his feet concealed his face completely. Under the candle’s glow he looked, in the Baron’s eyes, if ever so slightly, uncomfortable. He was a man who appeared more at ease in the embrace of darkness, amongst the other shadows, which dogged men in their every endeavour.
‘My lord,’ chorused the men, each bowing their heads as low as the table would allow them.
The Shadow then raised his pale hands in the air showing his palms to silence them, and said in almost a whisper: ‘my loyal friends. Or, at least, mostly.’
‘What do you mean my lord?’ asked the Baron, surprising himself with his confidence.
The Shadow turned to him and regarded him silently, the lack of response causing the Baron to sweat unconsciously. It was remarkable how one could feel such a penetrating gaze without ever actually seeing his eyes, it was little wonder thus The Shadow was so greatly feared among his peers. For all you knew he could be smiling under the hood or fixing you with a glare so cold it would freeze your insides.
After what seemed like hours The Shadow responded, ‘all in good time, my dear Baron, all in good time.’
The Shadow took the chair nearest to him, perching himself without so much as a creak of wood. Once comfortable, he pivoted his head to examine the men around the table in silent contemplation.
‘I thank you all for coming tonight gentleman, as there are a few things I have discovered. There are decisions that I have made, which I will now bring to… light.’
The Baron chuckled. The Shadow, to his relief, ignored him and continued, ‘Firstly, it has come to my attention – most unfortunately for the individual – that there is a traitor in our midst.’
There were a few murmurs of dissent and denial at the mention of these words, which were cut short when Vervanis asked in a tone of surprise: ‘A… a traitor my lord?’
‘Yes, a traitor,’ repeated The Shadow, ‘why so surprised? But do not worry, Vervanis, for I shall not hold you in suspense any longer. As it is you.’
There were a few seconds of complete silence and then every weapon in the room – including the Baron’s rapier – was pointing at Vervanis.
The Shadow raised his hands again and said: ‘Please, my friends, sheathe your weapons. There is no need for you to bloody them today. The matter has already been dealt with.’
After everyone sat back down, grudgingly putting away their weapons, Vervanis suddenly rose out of his chair.
‘Leaving us so soon?’ asked The Shadow in mock care, ‘please, take a seat. Didn’t you always say a man should die in comfort?’
Vervanis instantly paled and asked with a strained voice: ‘What do you mean?’
The Shadow waved his hand at Vervanis’ half-empty glass of wine and asked: ‘Enjoying your drink, Vervanis?’
The man’s face became a rainbow of colours, changing from white, to red, to blue and then green in only a matter of seconds. It would have been almost comical if his peers had not quickly reached the obvious conclusion.
‘You…’ gasped Vervanis, struggling to form his words, ‘you poisoned me! How?’
‘It’s quite simple really’ replied The Shadow in a tone so carefree you might use it to describe the weather, ‘I had poison placed in each of your glasses just to make sure.’
‘WHAT!’
Hands trembling, the Baron snatched his half-empty glass from the table, observing the red liquid swirling inside before dropping it on the floor for it to smash into shards by his feet.
‘Be calm my friends,’ boomed The Shadow, his voice echoing around the cellar. ‘Once I realized it was only Vervanis who had betrayed my trust, I had my servants place the required antidotes to the poison in the glasses of all those who are still faithful to me.’
‘You… you–’ Vervanis began.
‘Please Vervanis, over-exertion quickens the poison’s effects.’
‘You… will… regret… this,’ Vervanis growled through clenched teeth, his hands were now clamped tightly on his chair, his knuckles the colour of paper.
‘I’m afraid I won’t, your time appears to be up. I believe our business together is concluded, Vervanis.’
Vervanis snarled, but before he could utter a final curse he gripped his throat, which had begun to swell and redden. The swelling continued to spread up into his face, enlarged his cheeks and nose to repulsive, and yet strangely amusing sizes. While Vervanis tried to claw aimlessly at his face, froth had begun to build up at his mouth and an obscene mixture of gargling and choking noises emanated from his throat. After one last violent convulsion, his body went limp and slumped back into his chair. Vervanis’ swollen head lay flat on his chest and his arms dangled limply either side. Unmoving.
The Shadow placed a hand under his hood, circling the curve of his chin, as if disappointed with the efficiency of Vervanis’ death. The Baron was not left to ponder this for long, as with a clap of The Shadow’s hands, another round of servants appeared to drag the body away and replace their drinks. Not a single word was uttered or looks exchanged as one cleaned the shards of the Baron’s last glass into a tray and then slinked back into the darkness. ‘Thank you for your cooperation my friends, now, please, drink.’
The Baron hesitated, eyeing his new u
ntouched glass with a newfound suspicion, but with the gaze of The Shadow upon him he instantly grabbed it and reluctantly slid the contents down his throat.
Once everyone had lowered their glasses, The Shadow began to speak again, ‘I would like to bring something else to your attention. I imagine most of you would have travelled by horse and carriage here, and I’m curious. Have any of you experienced this kind of weather in Dalmarra? More importantly actually, do any of you know the significance of this storm that has raged for over a month… in the whole of Horizon I hear?’
The Baron frowned. Weather like this was virtually unheard of in Dalmarra, true. But what did The Shadow mean about the significance of the weather? Was it a joke?
The Shadow laughed softly – the Baron assumed at the confusion on all his disciples’ faces. ‘My friends, do you recall the discussion we had several years ago regarding a certain… ‘prediction’?’
Of course, the Baron thought, ‘the prediction’,’ The Shadow’s fortune teller’s prophecy.
‘I remember,’ the Baron said but he could, unfortunately, not hide the dubiety in his voice.
‘Good, that is good,’ The Shadow said, adding in a grave tone, ‘but I sense you do not appreciate its legitimacy, Baron?’
The Baron hesitated, gripping his cane tightly for reassurance, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it with my own eyes, my lord,’ he replied.
‘And see… him… you shall, Baron,’ The Shadow purred.
The Baron frowned, inviting another laugh from his master.
‘As you are all aware, our line of business brings many conflicts with various organizations and races; Dwarves, Regals, Hunters, the Lycans or even the Warlocks,’ The Shadow addressed the entire room, hisses accompanying each faction uttered.
‘This month, as predicted by the daughter of Ozin, storms would arise in hail of the birth – the rise – of the great warrior, Fierslaken’s heir. This child, this infant, shall mark the first day of our ascension to greatness. Soon, my friends, the world shall be ours!’
A great cheer rose up around the table and many of the men slapped their hands on the table in agreement. The only one not visibly pleased was the Baron.
‘How will it work, my lord?’ asked the Baron.
The cheering stopped and everyone turned to look at The Shadow expectantly.
‘A valid question my friend. As I said, the child will play an important part in this plan of mine, and he will bring us control. One way or another,’ explained The Shadow.
The Baron shook his head. Some of the men stared open mouthed at what he was doing – he was daring to say that The Shadow was wrong!
‘How my lord?’ asked the Baron, ‘how will we find one child in thousands? It is an impossible task.’
‘You doubt my plan,’ stated The Shadow, seeing the hesitation in the Baron’s eyes.
Suddenly, the table went silent again, as the men sensed trouble begin to brood between the pair.
‘No… no my lord, I–I swear,’ stammered the Baron, his short–lived surge of assurance failing.
‘If my plan is to work I need everyone to have faith,’ The Shadow said coldly, ‘especially you.’
‘M–me my lord?’ asked the Baron surprisedly.
‘Yes, you Baron,’ replied The Shadow, ‘I firmly believe your Skrunai will be invaluable in delivering my plan.’
‘Of c–course, my lord, they will do whatever you ask!’
‘They had better, Baron, otherwise…’ The Shadow then pointed at the empty seat formerly occupied by Vervanis, ‘you will suffer a far less pleasant fate.’
*
The woman cried out but it was in delight rather than the exasperation her brother had expected.
‘Carmena! Are you alright?’ the man rushed to his sister’s aid.
‘He smiled,’ she whispered, tracing her fingers over the lips of her newborn.
He giggled, grabbing his mother’s thumb with two hands and offered another smile, tempting her to make that wonderful sound again.
She smiled in return this time, she was tired and – she feared – nearing her end.
‘Jonathon,’ Carmena murmured.
‘Yes?’ he replied hesitantly, fiddling uncomfortably with his hands.
With a sad sigh, she gently moved her own hand free of her child’s grip and proffered him in her weak arms to her brother.
‘No,’ the man said, taking an involuntary step back, ‘I can’t.’
‘You must, please!’ she pleaded, tears curling down her cheeks.
‘I can’t,’ he repeated, but his protests had already begun to die down to the whispers of his sister. He would take the child, it had not been said but she’d accepted it from the look in his eyes. I will, they promised.
She smiled again for the last time, planted a kiss on the boy’s head and closed her eyes.
‘Not my name,’ she whispered, the darkness circling around her, ‘not my name… your choice Jonathon… yours.’
Within seconds, her head had turned to the side and she was gone, another victim of eternal sleep. A ghost of a smile displayed on her tired features.
His hands shaking, he reached under the bed and pulled out a small casket. The box was a dull gold colour, with mystical inscriptions shaped like vines darkening the case. That case… It had appeared by her bedside table a few weeks ago when the child had been born. No note, nothing. It had just… appeared, seemingly from nowhere.
She would want him to have it.
He brought the child up in his arms and looked into its innocent eyes, as it sucked on its own thumb, looking enquiringly back into his eyes.
‘My name is Jonathon,’ he whispered, the baby giggled again.
‘What shall I call you?’ he said, his voice cracking and tears beginning to sprout in his eyes.
The baby laughed again. However, his jubilation was to be short lived. There was a bang on the door.
‘Who’s there?’ he said.
Another bang.
‘Who is it?’ he shouted, backing away from the door.
The third bang narrowly preceded a flash of light that illuminated the door before it was blown off its hinges.
A man burst through the smoke, his robes billowing in the air behind him. His staff, which was smoking at the end, was pointed straight at Jonathon.
The man’s smoke stung eyes darted quickly around the room, remaining briefly on his sister’s body, before snapping back to Jonathon. The Warlock stared at the child, held close to Jonathon’s chest.
‘That is the potential? Interesting…’ the Warlock murmured, pushing away a strand of red hair that ran over his left eye.
‘Stay away!’ Jonathon said.
The man laughed, ‘empty words scant, empty words. What hope could you have of stopping me?’
‘This is not your child to take,’ Jonathon said.
‘Nor is it yours to keep, scant’ the man sneered, raising his staff.
‘ENOUGH! Let me through you fools.’
Another man, wearing a similar robe to the red-haired Warlock burst through the opening where the door had once been. He looked to be of a similar age as the other, in his mid-twenties but had a more authoritative presence and shorter, darker hair.
‘Farholm,’ the red–haired Warlock muttered, his lip curling.
‘You had no right, Vey! The Masters shall hear of this!’
‘As you wish,’ Vey shrugged, stowing away his staff onto his back and then striding arrogantly out of the room.
The Warlock, Farholm, shook his head disapprovingly, turned solemnly to Jonathon and held out his hand. Jonathon looked at it once and took a step back, narrowing his eyes.
Farholm smiled solemnly and folded his arms behind his back.
‘I’m terribly sorry for this intrusion of your privacy Mr…’
‘Grey.’
‘Mr Grey,’ the Warlock said, his eyes then scanned the rest of the room, his expression saddened when they fell on the woman on the bed.
‘Newly born?’ he asked, nodding at the baby.
‘Just over half a moon,’ Jonathon replied, hugging the child more tightly.
The man sighed and bowed his head. He walked up to the woman’s bed and leant over to examine her hand briefly.
‘Is there anything you can do?’ Jonathon asked, his voice cracking.
‘I’m afraid not,’ the man sighed, gently laying her hand back on her stomach, ‘death has taken her from this world, my friend.’
The doctor slid to the floor, the baby, blissfully unaware of the on goings of the world around it, giggled.
‘The child is a Majik potential?’ Jonathon asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Farholm replied.
‘How did you find him?’
‘By luck my friend, by luck’ said Farholm, ‘we happened to be in the area and my colleague picked up on the rather unique scent. Unfortunately, his manners and etiquette are rather… lacking.’
‘What do you want of the child?’
‘It’s not so much ‘I want’, as ‘need,’ if truth be told.’
‘Why? Why can’t he live a normal life?’
‘I’m sorry Doctor, but if the boy is not given the necessary training, he will be unable to control his Majik. At that point, he’ll be a danger to himself and others.’
Jonathon’s brow creased, as he frowned at the Warlock.
The Warlock smiled and adjusted his robes so he could crouch on the ground beside the doctor.
‘Hello,’ he said to the child.
The baby instantly turned its head towards Farholm, looking curiously into the man’s eyes. Jonathon gasped, surprised by their intensity, but the Warlock did not avert his gaze.
‘This one is special,’ Farholm whispered.
Jonathon nodded silently. For some odd reason, he couldn’t question the man’s conclusion, which appeared to ooze with sincerity.
‘So, he must go with you?’
‘All this talk of ‘he.’ What is the child’s name, Jonathon?’
The doctor thought for a moment, not inquiring as to how the Warlock knew his name. ‘He doesn’t have one yet.’
‘She asked you to give him your surname. Now a first name is all you need, correct?’
Thorne Grey and the City of Darkness Page 2
