In total, they were about twenty strong walking in a two-by-two column. They had two others who appeared to be the leaders because one was walking at the head of the column, and the other was walking on the side of it. Vennesulte and I pretended to be picking through some garbage in the alley way when they passed. We were certain that our disguise had been successful. Until, that is, we heard one of my sisters scream from underneath the hay.
To say her panicked screech was piercing would be an accurate description for not only the physical effect it had on our ears, but also on its effect on our hope of remaining undiscovered. “Help us!” she shouted over and over again. Both Vennesulte and I looked from the alley way to the pile of hay in the cart in just enough time to see Jinola and Hithelyn explode out from the hay as if they were propelled by an erupting volcano’s blast of fiery doom. Vennesulte reacted first. Before my sisters could gain their focus, he swung his staff in two quick successive strikes dropping both of them from the impact of wood to belly. I looked down to the opening of the alley way and saw the guard column stop and turn to investigate. The two leaders approached us but had, apparently, not seen Vennesulte strike my two sisters because their pace lacked any amount of alarm.
“Hey, you there!” said the commander. “Are you both ok?”
“Yes sir,” I responded while Vennesulte stepped next to me.
“Are you sure? I thought I heard a scream,” said the commander.
Both my young monk friend and I exchanged glances, “Scream?” I asked feigning ignorance.
“Yes,” he said with a slight edge of annoyance. “We distinctly heard a scream.”
Seeing that he would not be convinced into believing his ears were wrong by my feigned ignorance, I decided to concede and acknowledge the scream, “Oh, you must mean the small dog whose paw we accidently ran over.”
“I think not,” said the commander as his second’s suspicions also grew, “What are you playing at boy?” By this time, the column of guards had begun showing more than a passing interest in our conversation. They had started to slowly join their commanders.
“Playing? We are not playing. We are just retuning to our farm. We tried to sell some of our hay to those with stables, but as you can see, we did not sell much at all,” I said, pointing to our wagon.
Both of the commanders looked warily to the wagon assessing the truth of my story. When their attention returned to us, the commanded spoke again, “Does your brother talk?”.
While Vennesulte possessed all of the look and innocence of youth, the strange way he spoke would certainly betray our story as false. There was simply no way that allowing him to speak would benefit us in this situation. So, before he answered, I blurted out the first lie that came to me, “No!” I said a little too loudly. “I mean, he does not speak sir. He has not ever since our father passed. He was only two. He has said nothing ever since,”.
The guard must have seen the tears form in my eyes. They were not fake. Mentioning a father dying caused me, quite surprisingly, to have an unexpected emotional response. It was everything I could do not to allow the tears to rain freely down my cheeks. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. You will have no objections if we search your wagon? We are currently hunting two very deadly individuals. They freed themselves from our jails and managed to take two of our Lord’s most treasured objects.”
“Of course. Yes,” I said nervously, “you can search whatever you want.”
Both Vennesulte and I parted allowing the commander free passage to our cart. We exchanged nervous glances. How were we now going to avoid being captured again? Surely the commander would see the two girls, my sisters, laying in the wagon and instantly arrest us. But there was nothing we could do. If we chose to interrupt the commander during his search, or to prohibit him from doing so, we would absolutely be restrained forcefully allowing him to search it without our consent. Our choice was limited to hope. But I had none of that left anymore. So many times had I been confronted with horrible situations only to survive them. But to what avail? Each of my survivals lead only to another desperate situation, more so than the previous one.
The enormity of everything crashed on me, again. My father died to save my life so that I would live and eventually return from the Silver Selection. My mother, I had killed, so that my sisters could be rescued from a fate possibly worse than death itself. But now, I was on the verge of failing them like I had both of my parents. These events, all of them, had been dropped on the unsuspecting people whom I loved. And for what? To what end? Even Kinarin had died protecting myself and my sisters. How Vennesulte had remained alive in my company this long was beyond my comprehension, but it was clear that even his streak of fortune was not enough to overcome the sheer force of darkness my existence exerted on those around me. It was completely apparent that the additive summation of my life had led to this moment; a moment of anger and hopelessness. My head dropped and I looked to the ground. Two tears dropped and landed on the dusty alleyway as I tightly squeezed my eyes shut. I sobbed once and then looked up. For what reason, I did not know.
And then, descending like a god of lethal viciousness, I beheld utter absurdity. This image was burned into the very reaches of every legend of greatness I had ever heard of. In fact, when people tell tales of the legendary Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, and Ogres that seemingly exist on a divine plane greater than the rest of creation, I will always hold this vision in more wonderment than any of those. For divinely descending with an expressed intent of will beyond anything mortal I was ever exposed to, was something that was not real, could not be real. In fact, my mind did not believe my eyes and I believed him to be a visual manifestation of a hope so deep, it caused a horribly potent illusion.
Time unfolded slowly to me as Kinarin streaked out of the sky like a bird of prey hell bent upon the ending of that which his uncanny focus had been set upon. Soundlessly, I saw his daggers slice into the commander’s neck as he deftly landed and rolled. In the continuation of his momentum, he absorbed the force of his fall and redirected it at the second leader of their column. Rising up from his summersault with an upward slash reminding me of the great and legendary Phoenix as it emerged from the ashes of its burnt feathers to become something greater, he slit the other commander from belly to neck spilling his innards upon the ground that only moments ago had been home to my tears.
Before anyone could react, his silent assault was continued on the first four of the soldiers, and before their lifeless bodies hit the ground, the blood from the next two splattered across my face. There was no brilliance equaled to him except perhaps the hallowed singing of the great Mylanas Ishanduil herself. But where she brought hope and emotion, he brought death and finality. At the end, when all twenty-two soldiers who woke that morning expecting to return to their homes and lives to sleep with the chance to dream and rise again the next day, stood the greatest of artists I had ever beheld without the slightest hint of exertion.
He slowly turned to face both Vennesulte and I, “There are some lessons I have not taught you yet.”
“What?” I almost shouted as I stammered for the words. “How?”
“None of that matters now. We have not the time. Give your sisters more of this,” he said as he walked to us and handed us more of the sleeping potion. “This dose should be sufficient to keep them subdued until we are far from this wretched city. We will not have much time to sneak past the guards during their rotation. I have taken measures, but they are only temporary.”
Neither Vennesulte nor I asked Kinarin any more questions as we administered the potion to both Jinola and Hithelyn. “Now, both of you assist me as we hide these bodies.”
The three of us used the next five minutes to hide the dead guards in the trash piles that littered this ally. We did not bother to take their uniforms as disguises. Instead, Kinarin climbed in the back of our wagon and buried himself in the hay along with my sleeping sisters. With his added weight, the wagon was more difficult to maneuver as we made our way from
the ally to the main gate. Apparently, there was such a wide spread search for us that the guards responsible for checking those leaving the city had their numbers reduced. But that did not mean they did not have time to stop and question each individual. Nor did it mean that the several carts, wagons, and carriages would not be individually searched.
My anxiety had been on a slow rise ever since we got in line behind the other carts and carriages. Each one of them was thoroughly inspected. Some of them even had all of their contents emptied on the streets. So, I was certain that when it was our turn to be inspected, we would be captured. Or at least confronted. While I was now convinced that Kinarin had the prowess to face down the guards at the gates if it came to that, I was also certain a battle in the open would be sure to call the attention of the other guards. A column of twenty was one thing, but a battalion of over one hundred was something else altogether.
When our cart was next to be inspected, I heard Kinarin say from beneath his covering of hay, “Just stick to your story. Do not draw attention to the cart and all should be well.” His confidence in this situation seemed largely based on the fact that he did not witness what I had witnessed when the preceding carts tried to exit the city. Most of them were permitted. In fact, all but one. But the one that was not allowed to exit was instantly descended upon by guards as if they were hungry desert vultures that had just sensed the death of their prey. The people were seized and the contents confiscated within seconds. But, in spite of the unnerving scene, following his words was our only plausible course of action.
Too tell the truth, I was relieved that he was here again to make our decisions and assume the lead. Though I had been loosely in charge of our escape for a short time, and though I sensed it was only because Vennesulte had neither the desire or the leading to do so, I did not enjoy it. Nor did I believe I was prepared for it. Regardless of either my performance or preparation in leadership, this experience did broaden my understanding and appreciation of a new dynamic I had previously overlooked when considering Kinarin in total.
As we silently pushed our cart up to be inspected, we heard one of the guards say, “What was your business?”
“We only meant to sell some of our hay to the local shops. But we did not sell much,” I replied while trying to adopt the persona of a poor farm boy.
“Hay?” asked the guard, “Why would you want to sell hay? And why would people want to buy it?”
“It has a lot of uses. It can be used to start hearth fires, stuffed inside bedding to make it softer. It can be bound together and used like a table, if one has the tools and twine,” I said as I walked around the cart to stand in front of the guard. Vennesulte fell in to my right.
“Why were you selling it? Farmers usually sell food not hay,” he asked which drew a chuckle from the other guards who were checking the underside of our cart.
“To be honest, and I mean no disrespect, but when the keep was lost to the dark, I mean, invaders, we lost a lot of our food to them also. As did all of the farmers. So, we barely have enough to get through the winter. And should the winter be a long one, like it was three years ago, we might lose some of our animals,” I answered.
“Which farm are you from?” the guard asked me. I was sure they were going to start prodding the hay with their swords, which momentarily distracted me, but I was reminded that the guard was waiting for an answer when he asked his question again.
“Oh, my father is Dosh Dinaro,” I lied. “He owns the farm just off the main road heading in.” In truth, I did not specifically know if there was a farm leading into the city off of the main road; however, my father had explained that much of the income for farms was made not during the working hours at the stands in the marketplace, but as travelers passed the farms. For that reason, there was almost always a farm on one of the main roads leading to and from the main city.
The guard considered myself and Vennesulte for a moment. Then he looked passed us to the other guards responsible for searching the cart, “Hey, did you find anything?”
“No, there is nothing here except hay. They can pass,” said a gruff voice as its owner and three other guards walked back to their positions behind the one questioning me.
“Very well. You may pass,” he said.
At first, I looked to Vennesulte for confirmation because I wanted to doubt what I had just heard. Could it be true? Were we finally getting out of this city, the city that had held not only us captive more than once, but the city responsible for trapping my sisters in the clutches of the very evil that sacked it?
“Well, boy,” said the guard, “Did you not hear me? You two can pass with your cart.”
My eyes went from Vennesulte back to the speaking guard. Apparently, I had a look of bewilderment on my face. And when I still did not move, he walked over to me and said forcefully, “Hey, move along. We have still got quite a line here before we close the gates. Get moving!” But his words were not enough to jog me from my astonishment that something actually unfolded according to our plans. It took a solid shove from Vennesulte in my back to get my legs moving.
I cannot adequately express the emotions I was feeling when we walked through the heavy outer gate except to say it was like seeing the sun again after a long winter where it chose to reveal itself only on the rarest of occasions, and none of those occasions were chosen to the benefit of my eyes. Yet here we were, all five of us now, traversing through the legendary gate of the stone keep. Its legend had been built upon how difficult, nearly impossible, it was to enter once it was closed and its defenses were activated. But from my perspective, it was even more difficult to exit. However, that may have been because of our own predisposition of creating less than ideal circumstances.
Once we were beyond the range of clear eyesight, Kinarin sat up and brushed the hay off himself, “Your sisters are waking up. I am not entirely sure how because there was enough serum to keep them sedated for much longer. Perhaps it is the effect of their training. I had not considered it when I prepared it.”
“I am glad to be rid of that place,” I said as I looked back to see the great stone walls still standing imposingly large.
“So is Vennesulte,” he said as he came to stand beside me. “It is time again for Vennesulte to move and say goodbye.”
“What? You are leaving now? When we just left that hideous place?” my voice cracked betraying my emotional attachment to the young monk.
“Yes. It is time. Vennesulte must visit the other Monasteries to see his Brothers,” and with that, he gave me an awkward, half-hearted embrace, turned toward the north and began walking.
“Where is it you will go?” I asked him.
“Tatherton,” he said, “Vennesulte must speak with them first.”
As we watched him leave, Kinarin said, “He certainly is a little odd.”
“Yes, he is,” I responded, “but sometimes, we need a little odd.”
“Drin,” said the elder assassin as his voice grew more serious, “your sisters will not be as you remember them.”
“I know they will not,” I said as I walked over to the wagon again and started to remove the hay.
He walked over to stand beside me, “That is not what I meant.”
“What then did you mean?”
“Not only will they be different when they wake, but they will never be the same. They are no longer the young girls you remember, Drin. They are something different.”
“What do you mean ‘different’?”
My mentor took a very long pause as if he was considering something. Perhaps he was currently thinking how much to tell me, or even if he should tell me anything at all, but during his pause I could tell he was battling something on a front I could not see, one that was not physically perceivable. At one point, his eyes grew distant, as if his focus moved from me to a silhouette of me, but one he could not clearly focus on. I looked down at the hay and saw what I thought was the briefest of movements, but it was momentary and fleeting. When I looked back
to Kinarin, his gaze had returned and become as grave as his voice.
“Drin, I have heard stories and rumors about the dark arts. Those techniques that do not require the use of magic, but instead uses the focus of our emotions to accomplish actions not capable otherwise.”
“I do not see how that can change my sisters so much that they would never return to who they were,” I responded from hope.
“Not all of our emotions are good, Drin. Think of what you experienced while we were in the stone keep. Your sisters were exposed to training in these tactics and were undoubtedly exposed to heinous levels of pain to bring them to the level at which they can be put to use. And as you saw when they fought you, they were quite effective.” Hearing his words, my aggravation was beginning to grow. He must have seen my expression change because when he continued, he did so with almost a dismissive empathy. “I just want you to be prepared for what may happen we they are both fully awake. We may need to subdue them for a time,” he said as he looked down as well.
Not wanting to think about subduing my sisters, I abruptly said, “Then we will just have to make that decision when it is required.”
It was not long after my last statement regarding our discussion, that the required moment presented itself, and even without Kinarin’s furthered urging, the decision was apparent. I held on for as long as I could, but after Jinola had given me a shallow cut on my forearm while I was holding her with both arms and yelling that she should calm down, I managed to inject her with the potion. Kinarin did not fare quite as poorly as I did while handling Hithelyn. Perhaps because he was more skilled than I, or perhaps because he was already mentally prepared for what was going to happen, but he escaped without a mark.
“How long will they be like this?” I asked him as I lifted the unconscious weight of my sister and placed her in the cart. Kinarin did the same.
Bloodless Page 46
