by R N Skye
“But why?” queried the shadow. “Your deeds have destroyed much beauty and taken so many lives.”
“You are but nothing but a servant, a slave, I will not waste my dying breath on what is beyond your comprehension,” coughed Pechor more weakly this time.
“I am no slave,” the shadow sighed, “for I serve willingly and am not compelled. We all are servants of someone; I serve my fellow men for it is written as well as proven that service to each other is the true source of happiness. Even you my dying friend are a servant, though my observations tell me that those you serve are sinister and not seekers of happiness but of domination.”
“You know nothing of the glory of the Allyant,” growled the dying man. My accidental service to the Great Ones on this seeded world will only increase the influence of the Allyant and cause a blow to the Elios and abolish their attempted rescue of those transplanted here. In my time here I have corrupted their rules of law; they are now fragmented and the world has degenerated. Those seeded here fight among themselves over machines they don’t know how to build and ponder uselessly over symbols that could give them control over lumen. The Pyramid has fled or I would have destroyed it. With my last heartbeats I will plant an Allyant sphere in its place and it will reveal itself when one with the proper mind to bring the way of the Allyant to this world heeds to its teachings. With my last breath I will steal the souls that reside here for the benefit and control of lumen for the Allyant.”
With a spasm of pain and all of the concentration he could muster, Pechor touched the ground with the index finger of his remaining hand. There was a brief pulse and a dot of light formed where the finger touched. The dot of light rose from the ground and fled into the night. “The seed of the knowledge of the Allyant has been planted.” He then laughed and cringed from the effort.
“The Arc has not fled,” corrected the shadow. “I caused it to move to preserve the Laws of Wisdom. Your seed will not prevail. My elders will instruct me and your damage will be undone.”
“You are of the Elios?” the dying man shuddered with worry.
The man stood up pulling the sword from Pechor’s chest. With a lightning move and with an almost fluid motion the Shadow removed the dying man’s head cleanly from his neck. The man sighed as with a heavy heart and the sword winked out of existence then with a gesture several glyphs appeared in the air above the body parts of the dead Allyant; after a burst of brilliant light and white hot flame that lasted only a moment, the last remains of Pechor were gone.
“I am the Song, the guardian of Eliom and the Arc, Elios is my home” he said to the night.
Prince Allion Chavez Benet’ the Third hadn’t been as nearly impossible to deal with when Stafford had first joined the Crown Specials Services. Now Stafford often wondered if he would have tried to prevent the man’s assassination all those years ago, if he knew what he knew now back then.
Allion the Third hadn’t always been a problem. Most thought that he would follow his father’s footsteps and be a key factor in advancing the trade, study and solving of the mysteries of the artifact industry. Prince Allion had attended Wonstrowd and earned degrees in the social sciences but had also minored in Magetech. It was just after his graduation when on one of the many visits to the many crown owned archeological digs that he suffered a mishap with a never before found artifact.
The archeologists had found a sphere that emitted continuous pulsing red light. The sphere was found buried in the sand near the ruins of what appeared to be a caravan of remarkably preserved artifacts. Evidently the caravan had been caught in a sandstorm and had been covered and preserver for several hundred years.
After the artifact had been studied by the leading archeologists and magetechs it was decided that it must be a toy of some sort. They did agree that it was something unique though for it had no visible glyphs. Finding no purpose they offered it to the prince on his visit. After they gave it to the prince he held it in his hand and found he felt a strange feeling from it. At first he felt a slight twist in his stomach like falling from a tree; the sensation stopped and he thought he heard a voice. As he tried to understand the voice he suddenly found himself clutching the sphere tightly.
The presenting mages and archeologists gasped as they saw the sphere flare. With the sudden intense pain the prince flung the burning artifact from his hand and it shattered onto the ground. His hand was treated and as the device had been destroyed no one was able to determine what exactly had happened. The event was immediately the talk of the kingdom but the prince blew it off as one of those things that happen when you deal with magetech.
Two years after the sphere incident the prince was a changed man. He was spoiled, selfish and greedy and to the political demise of those that failed to pay attention, he appeared naïve; it was entirely an act that Stafford had noticed right away and was not taken in by the boyish face and pretended innocence. The two talents that the Prince did have that seemed to allow him to hide his now selfish personality were the fact that he was very politically shrewd and a devious planner.
Stafford had enjoyed working for King Allion the Second. Allion the Second and his father Allion the First had been largely responsible for the study and distribution of artifacts to the masses. More discoveries had been made during their reigns than during any other time since the “The Great Desolation”. Their philosophy had been that a better educated and happier population that enjoyed a higher standard of living would prosper more, live longer, and revolt less and be a significantly more loyal kingdom.
It was shortly after Allion the Second’s unexpected death when Shew announced his retirement and Stafford decided that working for Allion the third was not in his best interest as a career and he began setting things in place to pursue his own ambitions taking advantage of the ever changing the artifact trade.
The Crown was no longer a protector of the people but an autocracy of a self-absorbed elitist that was power hungry and in Staffords opinion destructive to the kingdom. Allion the Third was nothing like his father and grandfather. It was abundantly clear that the direction of the crown was to no longer empower the kingdom with the uses of artifacts, but to control the people through the crown’s control of artifacts.
Two years after Shew’s retirement Allion the Third called Stafford to his private office to order his older mentor’s death; the prince claimed that Shew was now working with smugglers and committing treason. That was the day that Stafford began planning his own retirement; not wanting his successor to do for him like he was now assigned to do for Shew.
Stafford appeared on Shew’s door step and immediately saw the traps. Instead of entering he simply left a note that read “Beef ragoût, dash, dot, dot, dot...” This would mean nothing to anyone but Shew and Stafford. It meant for Shew to meet him at the Ox the following week, third day of the week. And that the meeting time would be at seven in the evening.
Shew sauntered in to the Ox like the old codger that he was. After forty years of fighting the hidden foes of the kingdom he had altered his looks and personality to be that of a harmless but crotchety appearing old man with a thin pointy mustache and a sharp pointed beard. He spotted Stafford sitting towards the back of the tavern and hobbled over, pulling up a chair sitting opposite of the younger man.
“Hey Old Timer,” greeted Stafford, “thought you were dead.” He slid a drink towards the older man. “I took the liberty
“I tried,” Grumped Shew as he picked up the frothy stein, “but when I lay down in the grave it spit me out… said I tasted funny.”
“Probably the ridicules beard and mustache,” laughed Stafford. “How’s retirement treating you?” Stafford added casually.
“Retirement’s fine and the mustache and beard make me look younger, thank you. I got married about a year ago and the little Mrs. won’t let me in the house if it isn’t to get cleaned up first.
You didn’t invite me here to discuss my retirement and I thought I we agreed to treat me as if I was dead a
nd not to look me up unless it was life or death.”
“Married,” you old son-of-a -b…” Shew started to stand. “Hang on a minute,” said Stafford turning serious and gestured him to retake his seat. “It just so happens, that it is… life or death; mostly yours.”
“So the little prick finally made the call, did he?” Shew spat referring to the current king as he sat back down and picked his drink back up.
“I’m afraid so,” replied Stafford.” He seemed such a nice kid when he was prince… you sure he didn’t get switched at birth or dropped on his head or something? He’s nothing like his dad or grandfather.”
“Some kids just grow up to be bastards, regardless of their parentage,” the old mentor stated matter of factly. “So Stafford,” the old man continued, “what’s it going to be, an accident, a fire, or does the little tissue wipe want my head as proof?”
“He didn’t say, but if I give him your head it will be less likely he’ll send a follow up to check my work,” shrugged Stafford.
“What if I don’t want to die,” grumbled the older man. “I like my life… how am I going to explain this to Martha, wow is she going to be miffed… Besides, I’m pretty hard to kill – even by you. Does that little prick think I’m just going to lie down and say lop my head off I’m not using it anymore.”
“I got your back,” Stafford placated. “You still have those artifacts I gave you?”
“Yeah,” said Shew.
“Good here’s what I want you to do,” explained Stafford. “Open up the smaller case and inside is a little handheld artifact that is all blue except for the red glyphs and the yellow button, take it and use it to remove that little CSS tattoo behind your right ear. I don’t want you to say I didn’t warn you but it will feel like its burning at first but keep it activated and in place until it feels cool and like it’s healed… it will take about three minutes. If you stop half way it will scar and you will look like someone who burned it off and it will look suspicious.”
“What about Allion, he’s not your average take it for granted royal pain in the backside? He has likely figured that you and I have a history and you might not be up to the task.”
“Way ahead of you,” Stafford handed Shew a folded paper. “Follow those instructions and I’ll make sure you are safely beheaded and on your way with, what did you say your wife’s name was? Martha?”
Shew unfolded the paper read it and sighed, “I hope this works.”
“Just be careful,” cautioned Stafford. “The king may have more than one person on your tail as a backup and until I can implement the plan you have an X on your back.”
As Shew got up to leave Stafford said, “One more thing. Meet me back here tomorrow night - same time. Wendell will have his band of idiots here spying on me and I want them to hear our conversation. I don’t have to tell you to take precautions; you never know if one of them might get ambitious.”
Hugo the pickpocket was in a good mood; he had skillfully relieved a wealthy man of his considerable wallet and was now at a local tavern celebrating his bounty, sipping on his fourth glass of wine. Hugo was a very skillful pickpocket; one didn’t get to be his age otherwise. He seldom practiced his craft these days. – Mostly he taught younger thieves and was happy for a small percentage, but the wealthy man had just been too easy to ignore and the prize too big. Hugo was not only known for his near magical ability to lift belongings from unsuspecting passersby, he was also known for being cruel natured and brutal to women; especially to those that refused him. As the evening wore on he was soon joined by a long-time friend, Alto; a local tough that did favors of the unpleasant sort for other local criminals. Alto in the interest of free drinks had joined Hugo and was soon beerily celebrating the evening with him. As the wine flowed they were joined by others; both strangers and acquaintances.
They were quite intoxicated by the time that they decided that some female company was in order and at the suggestion of one of the strangers in the group they soon exited the tavern in pursuit of the fairer gender. As Alto and Hugo staggered down the street they found themselves in front of a barber shop that was open late. In their inebriated state they readily heeded the advice of the barber who had been sweeping the front walkway that a shave and a haircut would improve their chances of a more successful dalliance with the ladies. It wasn’t long before Hugo found himself seated in the barber’s chair not caring whether he needed a haircut or not but enjoying the warm towel on his face. Alto had passed out in a waiting chair snoring with a pleasant smile. About the time the barber finished stropping the razor Hugo passed out as well never noticing as the barber placed restraint bands on His wrists and ankles. The last thing that entered Hugo’s mind before he surrendered to unconsciousness was how much the barber looked like the wealthy man he had robbed.
The next day the newspaper told of an unexplained fire in an abandoned building and an unidentified body that was burned beyond recognition – the cause had been attributed to a homeless man starting a fire in an abandoned building.
Shew kissed His wife goodbye as she boarded the coach that would take her to her sister’s house in the country. After it had driven away he strolled towards the taxi pick up area and hailed a cab and began the final phase of Staffords plan.
As the cab pulled away from the curb Shew thought about Stafford. How much did he trust the man? He had followed his plan to the letter but as he neared the final stage his years of training and paranoia began to creep forth. With a sudden change of mind Shew told the cabby to change direction and head to the Palace.
Wendell Sapp was a spy; not a very good one to those that were, but in his own mind he was the best. If he had any idea on how much he was mocked by the other intelligence officers of the crown he would never have believed it. He would have thought it as good natured teasing; it was inconceivable to his mind that anyone could perceive him as anything but the best. He had become one of Allion’s internal intelligence officers by design; Staffords design. He was what Stafford referred to as a tattletale and a climber he was almost as politically driven as the king and was not a very original thinker. Stafford had stumbled onto Wendell and realized long ago that he would be perfect for the king’s internal intelligence. Especially if he needed to have information reach the king ears as if from a trusted source. Through a series of apparent random events orchestrated by Stafford, Allion the Third found and handpicked Wendell as his personal intelligence liaison. It was no accident that the king had been informed of Shew being tipped off regarding his order of assassination.
Stafford sat at a table across from the king. Wendell stood arrogantly to the kings left.
“Is this report correct, Mr. Sapp,” asked the king as he closed a folder which Wendell had given him earlier and placed it calmly on the table.
“Yes your majesty,” Gloated the spy with a condescending glance toward Stafford.
“Stafford,” the king questioned the assassin.
Stafford picked up the report and read through it. “Yes your majesty, it is.” He placed the folder back onto the table top.
“Have you completed your assignment in removing the threat to the crown of former agent Shew?” queried the king.
“Not yet your majesty, I expect to complete the assignment shortly,” Stafford answered.
“This is preposterous,” exclaimed Wendell. “My agents witnessed Mr. Stafford and Mr. Shew chatting like old friends. It is clear that Mr. Stafford was warning Shew.”
The king held up his hand cutting the intelligence officer off from further outbursts. “Please explain Stafford.”
“As stated in the report in front of you your majesty, I did indeed meet with Shew and he did indeed surmise that I had been ordered to make his retirement extremely permanent. I did this by design due to the extremely dangerous nature of the target. If I were to have attempted to take him at his residence it would have required me to spend considerable time reconnoitering his defenses and even then there was a risk of my own safety
. Shew was my mentor and I have learned that he is entirely unpredictable and extremely dangerous even at his advanced age. It is abundantly apparent that even if I could have dispatched the target, either at the tavern or at his residence, you would undoubtedly require proof so I presented him with a plan, under the guise of friendship and a loyalty to him, as a ruse, to lure him to the palace, where you and your agents could witness his removal; he should be here momentarily,” concluded Stafford.
“Here in the palace? “The King stood, a fleeting look of panic momentarily expressed on his face.
“You are quite safe your majesty. I know the room that Shew will be in when he seeks to enter the palace undetected. Stafford stood and turned toward the door, “If you will follow me please.”
The king stood and followed Stafford out of the private office followed closely behind by Wendell. They didn’t have to go far. As they neared the throne room Stafford turned towards the Royal Clerks office. Just outside the doors were the Royal Clerk and his three assistants hollering loudly to a pair of palace guards outside the door. They stopped speaking has they saw the king’s approach.
“Stand aside,” commanded Stafford.
Knowing that Stafford was a personal member of the king’s private staff and having heard many a deadly rumor pertaining to what exactly he did for the king and that he answered only to the king the clerks and guards quickly moved aside. The king and Wendell followed Stafford into the office.
