by Todd Shryock
The man stood staring at the wizard, his face expressionless.
The wizard sighed. There would be no sport with this one. He used his magic to push his left hand deeper into the depths of the universe in which magic originates; the building blocks of all life resided there. The heat increased in his hand as he paused to build the charge that would course through his body, the energy using him as a conduit, before shooting out of his other hand which was charged opposite of the magic. If this man were as powerful as his underlings had said, then a full charge would be the only safe way to make sure he didn't get in a lucky shot before he turned to ash.
Before the wizard could discharge his energy, the man grabbed his right hand and began forcing it towards his left. The wizard's mouth dropped as the two hands came closer together, his left hand frozen in air as it was locked in another part of the universe, his right wrist locked in the strength of the stranger. How could he know the secrets of the wild fire? It had taken him years of study to find how to cheat the magic of its due, but yet this one obviously knew its secrets and its weaknesses. The mage managed to mouth half a curse before his hands touched, completing the circuit.
Darkblade was knocked backward into the other wall of the alleyway as the dealer turned to gray-white ash before his eyes, the particles falling to the cobblestones in a heap. A cloud of dust was pushed up into the air before settling back down again. The warrior carefully nudged his boot around in the remains, looking for any signs of a magic object that would have brought the wizard back from the dead or magically preserved his soul. Seeing none, he grabbed the two unconscious dealers by their cloaks and began dragging them down the alley back towards Central Watch, the magic strength in his gloves making them seem like no more than a few pounds each.
***
Watch Commander Stelv looked at the warrior standing before him. Everything he had hinted at darkness. His dark cloak, his black gloves and even his demeanor rang of darkness. He didn't much care for the man, mainly because he wasn't directly under his control. Darkblade was the only man on the watch who received his orders directly from Lord Wren and not him.
"So, you are saying there is no evidence of the wizard or his works?" said Lord Wren, who stood beside Stelv in his small office atop Central Watch.
"I am sorry to report the wizard incinerated himself and his powder in an attempt to use wild fire," the warrior replied.
"Darkblade," Wren said, using the man's title, which was the only identity anyone knew him by, "we really needed to find out what his formula was so we could learn how to counteract its effects."
Darkblade shrugged. "It was not a perfect mission, I regret to say."
Stelv frowned. The man seemed to show no deference to the Lord or to him. He needed to be taught respect, but even with his long mastery of weapons and combat, he didn't dare challenge him. Stelv had served the lord as bodyguard for a decade before being given this post, and even after these years of service, still never used the familiarity this Darkblade used.
"It is of little matter now," Wren conceded. "With the master of the powder out of the picture, demand will fall. The other dealers' product is not nearly as effective."
Darkblade wondered for a moment how the lord of the city knew so much about the powder, but held his tongue.
"We have a bigger problem now," Wren continued. "There have been several murders on the edge of town, near the butcher's warehouse complex."
"I had heard," Darkblade added, resting his left hand on the pommel of his sword.
"Well, it wasn't of much concern until the son of a particular merchant family turned up dead." He paused as he strolled to the window and looked out at the gray skies and light drizzle that fell on the street below. A few peddlers hawked their wares in the morning humidity, hoping one of the few passerbys would stop for a bargain or two. "Ralid, son of my good friend Pare Duvtall, was found murdered yesterday." Wren continued to stare out the window as Stelv spoke.
"We have every reason to believe we have a serial killer on our hands," he said, his voice grim.
"What makes you think so?" Darkblade inquired.
Stelv took a deep breath, not used to being questioned about his conclusions. "All four victims were at the same Inn before they were killed. All four were horribly dismembered. So dismembered that we can't find all of the pieces. The remains were found in a small wood on the south side of town."
Darkblade nodded. "Which Inn?"
Stelv's mouth went shut and he glanced at Lord Wren's back, who continued to stare out the window. Wren made a barely perceptible nod before Stelv continued.
"They were seen at the Double Bull," Stelv answered.
"A known hangout for men looking for the company of other men," Darkblade said. "Which presents an embarrassing situation for the family, who had arranged for Ralid to marry a rather wealthy merchant's daughter, as I recall."
"And the family is one of my chief financial and political backers," Wren said, his voice hollow as he placed his hands on the sill and leaned his weight against his arms. "The only chance I have to regain my favor with Pare Duvtall is to bring his son's killer to justice. And even then I'm not so sure."
Stelv looked at Wren. "Surely, my lord, they cannot hold you responsible? You had nothing to do with this incident."
Wren shook his head and turned to face the men. "Right now, Pare needs to blame somebody, so he's blaming me. After all, I name the watch commander who patrols our streets." He stared at Stelv who quickly grew nervous.
"My lord, I assure you that every man I have will commit himself to finding this killer. We will tear every house apart until..."
Wren raised a hand to silence him. "You will do no such thing. Terrorizing the citizens in the vain hope of finding the killer will anger the merchant families. Darkblade will find the killer."
Stelv started to protest, but was silenced by Wren once more. "You will continue with your normal routines and nothing more."
"As you wish, m'lord." Stelv's eyes burned with hatred as he turned to face Darkblade. He started to speak, but Wren cut him off.
"Darkblade, you have served your post faithfully for many years now," said Wren, pacing the room as he collected his thoughts. "You have never failed me or my predecessors. But this mission may be your toughest yet. Word has not gotten out about Ralid Duvtall's preference of company, and the family may yet save face if the killer is brought to justice. If the rest of the merchant community finds out about Ralid's preference's, the family will be humiliated, as the whole arranged marriage will look like it was simply a ploy to swindle wealth from another merchant family. If that happens, the power of the Duvtall family will plummet, and another family will most likely gain enough influence to have me replaced as Minister of the city. This cannot be allowed to happen. You will go forth, learn whatever is necessary without exposing the Duvtall secret and bring the killer to justice."
Darkblade looked into the eyes of Wren and said, "It shall be done."
A slight smile appeared on the man's face in response. "I know you have the best chance of anyone of finding out who has done this. But let me warn you, if you fail, I will remove you from the post of Darkblade and replace you with Stelv."
Darkblade watched as Stelv's expression changed from anger to surprise. A grin came across the man's face as he thought about the possibility.
Darkblade sighed. "I will accomplish the mission. Unlike your underlings," Darkblade glanced at Stelv, "I do not require threats to be motivated."
Wren glared at Darkblade. "That may be so, but a little extra incentive never hurt anyone. Now be gone and don't come back to me until you have Ralid's killer."
Darkblade bowed in acknowledgment and exited the room.
Stelv relaxed, feeling slightly exhilarated at the possibility of being named Darkblade. "I am honored your lordship considers me for the position of Darkblade."
Wren frowned, then strode back to the window to take up his observation of the peddlers below. "I do n
ot think he will fail." His voice was flat, and even his colorful robes of state looked dull in the spartan office of the watch tower.
Stelv sighed. "You can never be sure. That one is unpredictable and looks out for himself. At times he seems completely disinterested in the city and shows no respect to you."
Wren quickly whirled around, and Stelv prepared for a verbal onslaught, but the lord seemed to catch his anger before conveying it. He took a few steps forward, a contemplative look crossing his face. "He does not show the respect that is due, but too few people of the western lands understand the formalities of power."
"He is also rumored to have accumulated great wealth during the course of his duty," Stelv added.
Wren scoffed and turned back to the window. "It is the right of Darkblade to keep whatever wealth he finds in possession of the criminals he brings to justice."
"But his wealth has grown to the point where he no longer needs the city...or its lord," Stelv said, picking each word carefully, knowing he treaded on dangerous ground.
Wren stood silent by the window for a few moments before responding. "Yes, the latter points are true. He no longer has a need for the city, or me for that matter."
"And how effective can he possibly be with no motivation? His needs have already been met. It is you who loses if he fails, not him." Stelv stared at Wren, watching as his lord came to the same conclusion.
"Perhaps you are right," Wren said, his voice suddenly filled with energy. "I think you should make sure Darkblade is doing his job to the fullest of his abilities. But no troops!" he warned, wagging a finger at Stelv. "Keep this quiet. See to it personally."
Stelv grinned wide, showing a row of yellow teeth. "It shall be done, my lord." He bowed low as Wren pushed past him to the door.
***
Darkblade sighed as two more patrons of the Double Bull left the smoky common room and headed out into the cool, clear night. The lateness of the hour had greatly thinned the crowd from its original thirty, down now to less than a dozen. There had been a lot of conversation, and some interesting bits of information about city politics came out, but nothing of the killer he had been looking for during the last week. One group had even quietly discussed the matter, but they were simply talking about current events and nothing more. He had tried to loosen up the crowd a bit, dropping a good bit of coin to buy drinks for various groups he joined, but now he sat at the bar alone, swirling what was left of his ale in the wooden mug.
"You want another one, Scala?" asked the grotesquely obese barkeep who owned the place.
An older man who had been at the Inn since Darkblade arrived stepped up to the bar beside him along with a smaller, younger man. The older one had thin, white hair slicked back on either side of his head. His dress showed he had some coin to throw around, and the bone handled knife at his belt meant he wasn't afraid to be displaying wealth in this part of town.
"Look here, boy," the older man called to his companion. "You have to watch the barkeep, or he'll cheat you."
"Give it a rest, Scala," the barkeep replied, unfazed by the remark as he poured a transparent red liquor into the man's cup. "You'll give me a bad reputation to the new customers," he added, glancing at Darkblade.
"I can do nothing to harm your already horrible reputation, my friend," Scala said, pulling out a short stick scored with measuring marks. He proceeded to lay the stick in various directions across the cup, then dipped it down into the liquor itself. He put the stick away and looked upward as he did some mental calculations. "Not a bad racket, if you can get away with it."
The barkeep looked at Darkblade, then at Scala. "What are you talking about?" he asked, becoming agitated as Darkblade turned to see what Scala was referring to.
"Your cups, of course." The young companion crowded close to look at the cup.
"What's wrong with your cup?" he asked.
"Nothing is wrong with the cup," Scala replied. "It's just the cup keeps changing."
The bartender scowled as the boy stared at the cup. "It's not doing anything."
Darkblade could tell by the boy's accent he was far less educated than this Scala.
"You see, you pay for a pint of liquor," Scala said, pointing to the board of fare above the bar. "And the first round, that's what you get. But as you keep drinking, the cup's diameter shrinks. The barkeep gives you a smaller and smaller glass, but keep's charging you the full price. He makes more money on serving less alcohol."
The barkeep glared at Scala. "Okay, so what if I do? What are you going to do about it?"
"I," he said proudly, a look of confidence beaming from his face, "will tell every laborer that comes here what you've been doing. And what reaction do you think that will bring?"
The barkeep started to speak, but Scala cut him off. "Unless, of course, you give a free round of drinks to the house to make up for your error." He smiled as he awaited the barkeep's response.
The barkeep stared at him, unmoving, his grease stained apron not even reaching over his grossly rotund belly to his waist. With a laugh, the barkeep grabbed another cup and filled it with the red liquor, then started filling another round for the rest of the house.
"How did you know?" the young companion inquired.
Scala smiled as he downed his first glass of liquor. "Precision is my religion; ignorance is simply art."
The boy look dumbfounded by the response. "But..."
Scala cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You are simply a painter, Alva. You can't possible understand the logic of..."
"Gostalik," Darkblade finished. "The great thinker himself."
Scala smiled and turned his full attention to Darkblade. "Yes, my friend. You are aware of his work?"
"Not in great detail. But I know the basic workings of his philosophy."
Scala downed the last of his drink and put the cup on the bar as he slid into the seat next to Darkblade. His young companion frowned and rejoined the group near the back of the bar.
"His thinking is astounding. I try to apply his principles to everything I do," Scala said, using his hands as he talked for accent.
"How do you apply them, if you don't mind me asking."
"Not at all. You see, I am the owner of one of the warehouse complexes near here. People bring me wares all the time, telling me what quantity they have. If I don't check, they will rob me blind. If I am off even by the slightest amount, and you multiply that by the number of merchants I see in a year, a small fortune will be lost. Precision is my religion. I measure everything: food, water, clothes, animals, people, weapons. You name it, I measure it."
"There are some things that are impossible to measure," Darkblade countered.
"Nonsense," Scala answered, waving his hand, nearly knocking over his other glass of liquor. "Name one thing."
"Efficiency," Darkblade said. "How can you measure the efficiency of one city lord to the next. Oh sure, you can count how many people are happy or how many coins flow into the coffers, but one man's efficiency is another's waste."
"I beg to differ. With the right tools, one can measure anything, and I do mean anything. In this case it would be necessary to put together a set of mathematical tables weighing the relative worth of each action or accomplishment. This would take into account differing opinions and different sets of circumstances to give you one common measure. Done properly, this would measure the efficiency of a city lord or any other profession you chose to analyze."
Darkblade thought for a moment, but couldn't really argue the man's point. "I'm not sure how exact it would be, but I suppose it would be a measurement."
The man wagged a finger in protest. "The exactness lies in the man creating the tables and doing the measurements, not in what is being measured."
"So you could do this?" Darkblade asked, wondering if this man could truly put together such complex calculations.
"Yes," he said flatly.
Darkblade laughed. "You seem to know a lot about precision."
"I am obses
sed with it," he replied as he took another sip of his drink. He turned to face the remaining patrons. "Precision, my friends, is your ticket to riches," he preached. "Measure everything, and expect your due. Reap the benefits of knowing exactly how much comes and goes, and you will be better men."
A few men smiled or raised a drink in response, but most just went back to their conversations. Alva stood, glared at Scala, and stomped out of the Inn.
"Hmm. It seems as if I have annoyed my companion for the night." Scala shrugged and finished off his drink. "Perhaps you would like to join me for some further conversations?"
Darkblade watched as the man's hand slid down his shirt's silver buttons, which were emblazoned with small birds, to his belt.
"Not tonight, friend," Darkblade replied, trying to not ruin his relationship with a man who obviously had some contacts in this part of town.
"Troubling times?"
"I knew one of the men who disappeared from here. We were close."
"Ah. Perhaps another time then." He gently touched Darkblade's back, then tossed a gold coin to the barkeep. With quick strides he was out the door.
Darkblade pulled out a silver coin of his own and placed it on the bar. It was late, and again, there had been no real leads. He made his way past the remaining patrons and out the door. He paused as his eyes reoriented to the darkness outside. A small sliver of the moon shone down on the cobblestone and dirt street. The wind picked up and sent bits of leaves and rubbish blowing down the street. A mouse darted out from the darkness of the buildings, dashed near Darkblade's boot to grab a scrap of bread, then made for the safety of the building again. Darkblade was glad it was a mouse rather than a rat, which also tended to be on the daring side. He glanced down to where the mouse had grabbed its meal and saw a faint glimmer in the moon light. He picked up the small, round, silver object and flipped it over in his hand. It was a small button emblazoned with small birds. His heart raced. Had Scala been kidnapped? He quickly scoured the scene, looking for some sort of clue. After searching for several minutes, he found two small drops of blood leading away from the inn.
