Victor was trying not to act surprised or embarrassed, but the way his face was warming he knew he wasn't doing a very good job. “I thank you for the use of your robe m'lady.” Victor gave his best attempt at a stately bow, which caused Lia to look at him wide eyed before giggling. Feeling he had regained some of his pride he smiled.
“If you will just follow me, I will show you to the dining room.” Lia walked towards the door that Victor knew led into the upstairs hallway, expecting her young charge to follow.
Nim's Mansion was not as large as the house he had broken into the night before, and yet it seemed much more elegant to the young thief's eye. The man had paintings lining each sides of the hall, and there were sculptures placed throughout. Lia led him down the right side of the large stairs at the entryway to the house. They walked towards the large statue of some sort of cat over it's prey, and turned right into the long hallway behind the other set of stairs. There were only one set of doors in the hallway on the left side, but they continued on towards the end of the hallway which opened up into another room. Victor looked out one of the massive windows to his right and saw beautiful flowers with a fountain further behind. He could see the street as it crept up the hill on the other side of the hedge.
Victor found himself walking into a room that would be able to hold all two stories of The Serpent's Dagger inside it comfortably. He guessed that the ceilings had to be at least twenty five feet high, and the room had massive windows all along one side of it overlooking yet another garden full of flowers, trees, and manicured shrubs. The whole room was built around a table that must be five times as long as the room was tall. Like everything else in the house it was a work of art.
As Victor looked to the left his gaze was drawn to a painting that took up the entire wall, all the way down to a doorway at the other end of the room, which, he assumed lead to the kitchen. The painting depicted a battlefield with two armies facing each other. One army wore white armor, weapons gleaming in the light, while the other army wore dark armor, weapons dripping with blood. The land around both armies was desolate. Victor knew that each army represented one side in the battle between good and evil. In between the two massive armies stood a man, his lower half looked normal, but his upper half seemed to be two separate men. One side seemed to be trying to head towards the army of the light. That side wore a white headband, with his weapons glowing like the sun. The other was wore all black and seemed to be yelling orders to the army of the night. As Victor studied the painting more he realized that everyone depicted on both sides were staring at the man in the middle, as if waiting to see which side he chose. With his realization came a thought. When he chooses a side, the carnage will begin.
“Ah Victor, admiring my painting are we?” Victor tore his gaze away from the giant mural to see Nim walking his way wearing a black robe that seemed to be made of silk, over his right breast was a lightning bolt surrounded by flames. This was the first time Victor had seen Nim without a hood, and the effect was startling. Nim's eyes were even more striking in the light of day than they had been from the dark of his cowl. The man's hair was cropped short, yet it sparkled in the light like metal. As he moved closer Victor realized the hair had interlocking pieces like a suit of armor that caught the light.
His hair is scaled! The thought hit Victor like a hammer.
Nim looked down at Victor, clearly not enjoying being stared at in his own home. “What?”
“Ok, really... where can I get hair like that!” Victor's hand twitched as he stopped it from heading towards Nim's head.
“You have to be born to the wrong people at the right time.” Nim countered, one eyebrow higher than the other. “Seriously though, do you like my painting?”
Yeah I do! It's so detailed, and it says so much without saying anything. Who did it?” Victor found that it was hard to look away from the painting now that his attention had been brought back to it.
“I did” Nim turned towards the painting, and the two stood staring at it lost in their own thoughts, neither heard Lia as she quietly excused herself from the room.
“It's really good.” Victor said quietly after some time had passed. “It's like I can feel the emotion coming from both sides, and I can see the struggle that the man in the middle is going through. Is it about the nature of man being both good and evil, and his struggle to find his place in it all?”
Nim looked down at Victor as he was asked the question. Ok Nim remember he just looks eight, he's really more like a smart old man stuck in a child's body. That's got to be it. He's some really powerful wizard playing mind games with me. There is no way eight year old's thoughts can get that deep. “Are you sure you're only eight? Maybe you just didn't grow or something?” Nim asked, only half joking.
Victor's thoughts were all aimed towards the painting, so it took a few seconds for what Nim had said to register. “Oh, no, I'm only eight. Shaylyn told me that I was different because of who my parent's were, and something else that went on around my birth. She didn't seem to want to talk about it much, so I let the issue lie. Just talk to me like I'm older, and we'll get along fine.”
Nim couldn't help the small shake of his head as he asked, “Shaylyn who?”
“Oh yeah, I'm sorry. Um... Shaylyn was my teacher, she raised me from birth pretty much. She was a like a mother to me until about a year ago.” Victor walked up and down the painting, trying to get a closer look at the different segments of the battlefield.
“What do you mean by was, did something happen to her? Was she a Mystic?” Nim's emotions were flying between elation at finding the boy, and worry for his old friend.
“Yeah, I think I heard her called that once or twice. As to what happened, there was a fire. I assume it was caused by the Blood Mage. I wasn't there to see the battle, and the house was a mess when I got there. Now I'm living with Ol' man Walkins, so is Shawnrik.”
“Oh, I'm sorry. She died?” Nim couldn't keep the sadness from his voice, he had known the Mystic Shaylyn Arasmé. She had helped him when he was younger, of course, she had gone by a different name then. It would be a detriment to all if she had died. Ol' man Walkins… I wonder if that is Michael C. Walkins? Maybe that fight we had made him into an old man before his time.
“Oh no, she's not dead.” Victor said without a hint of doubt.
“You said that there was a Blood Mage, the house was on fire. If she isn't dead then why isn't she raising you still?”
Victor shrugged because he really didn't know the answer. “I said there was a battle, but she was gone before the Blood Mage. I am sure she's not dead, and I'm sure whatever is keeping her away is important.”
I hope your right kid… Be safe Tyrdra, for all our sakes.
“What about my question of the painting though?”
Nim didn't feel like letting his thoughts wander over the idea that his old friend might be dead, so he answered Victor's initial question. “Well, I think that your observation is rather good, but I got a deeper sense of it as the painting slowly came together. The whole thing felt like it was divine inspiration. At first I thought that the figure in the middle was going to be me, narcissist that I am, but after it was finished I knew that it wasn't. As much as it pains me to admit, it's much too grand a scale for little ol' me. No, I think that this is a turning point in the battle of good and evil, maybe even of life and death itself. One side lies salvation for the world, the other destruction. The choices that that man makes will tip the scale one way or the other. As it is, the sides look almost even, but I counted and there are five more men on the side of destruction. I don't know if that means anything, but there it is. Either way doesn't much matter to me though, as long as the war coming allows me to turn a profit, or spread my influence.”
Victor listened silently as Nim spoke, nodding in agreement with the man's assessment of the battlefield. “Shaylyn would say that it would be better for the man to choose the side of good.”
“What do you think Victor?” Nim asked, r
eally wanting to know what was in Victor's heart.
“I think either way there is going to be a war. People are going to die. The face of the world will change. One way or the other, it's still just a turning point. Even if he chose the side of light, the darkness still has four more on him.”
“What war? Did I miss something?” Shawnrik came into the dining room following Megan. The robe he was wearing was an emerald green that must have belonged to Megan, because it was just big enough to cover him.
“Yes” Nim said, “You almost missed our early afternoon meal. Now let's sit down and enjoy, before it's time for dinner.” Nim eyed Victor with new found respect as they took their seats for their meal.
The three sat down to eat, and shortly after the food arrived, so did Ashur. He sat down without saying a word, and dug in to the plate that had been set before him. The atmosphere was rather subdued, the two boys not knowing if they were supposed to talk at the table. It was allowed at Ol' Man Walkins place most of the time, but sometimes the man would get violent if someone spoke at the wrong time. Since Nim and Ashur were both being quiet the boys decided to as well.
About halfway through the meal Jenn came into the room. The boys noticed that she was no longer wearing her maid uniform. What she now wore was a sleek black outfit that was just loose enough to conceal a lot of weapons, Victor thought. Without a word Nim stood and went through the door at the end of the dining room, Jenn right behind him. They were in the other room long enough for everyone else to have finished their late lunch. Nim told them that the tailor was there, and that the boys should go get measured for their new outfits. Victor and Shawnrik had never been fitted for clothes, but it didn't take long for the novelty of the situation to wear thin. Neither knew how long they had been poked and prodded by the tailor and his assistants, but when it was all over Victor and Shawnrik both had a nice new outfit. The tailor told Nim as he was leaving that he would have more ready in the morning. After the tailor was done, Nim brought in a Shoe-Maker. The man said that it would take a day or two to make the shoes, but that he would send a pair over for the boys in the meantime. By the time the shoe maker left they were informed that it was time for dinner. After a filling meal of a what Nim referred to as a meager five courses, the group walked down the hallway and entered the double doors that led to what Nim called his waiting room.
The waiting room was one of the smallest rooms in the house, which still made it bigger than the common rooms at any inn that Victor had yet seen. Still, for it's size it had a home-like quality about it. There were several couches and half a dozen padded chairs for people to rest in. The northern wall held a large fireplace that had a stylized mantle that appeared to be made from one large block of stone. Between two of the chairs was a chess board, one side's pieces were made from a shiny black stone, the other a glossy white. As with the rest of the manor they had seen thus far, there were framed paintings in the empty spaces of each wall, and sculptures guarded the corners of the room. Near the door that Victor assumed lead to the kitchen stood a cabinet that seemed to be full of different sized bottles, whose contents were a variety of colors. Victor thought he could see the outline of what might possibly be a third door out of the room on the southern wall, but before he could ask about it Nim began to speak.
“Have a seat boys.” Nim said, moving towards one of the chairs near the chessboard.
Victor and Shawnrik sat down on the couch opposite Nim's seat.
“Is that what every day is like when your rich?” Victor said, yawning the last words.
“Oh no, today was easy. It's when you have to deal with other rich people that the day gets really exhausting.” Nim's tone was light, but Victor could tell by the man's face that he was being serious.
“Well I didn't mind, the whole time we were standing there getting poked and measured they kept bringing me fruit juice! Strawberry, apple, and some other kind that made my throat tingle! This was the best day ever!” Shawnrik nearly jumped out of his seat as he spoke, obviously not as tired out from the day as Victor had been.
Victor looked around before letting out a deep sigh. “Yeah it was, but we should be returning to Ol' man Walkins, he's probably going insane looking for us, and he'll want to know that I didn't get the manacles.”
“Well, about that,” Nim cleared his throat. “Do you know anything about the manacles you were trying to steal last night?” Victor and Shawnrik both shook their heads in the negative. “Ok, then I'll tell you about them. They were created by a Dracair shaman some three or four hundred years ago. As you should know, the Dracair are a race of men who were created through thousands of years of Draconic breeding programs. The manacles were created to imprison his arch rival, a human Blood Mage of considerable talent. The shaman found a Master Blacksmith who hated his rival nearly as much as himself to forge the manacles. He then had one of his apprentices, who was a practitioner of what some call rune-forging to inscribe the manacles with several potent and malicious runes. As the final step, he had his apprentices gather a hundred humans, which he then sacrificed to the Dracair god Relikos. For one year he was to soak the manacles in the blood of his sacrifices, using his power to make the blood stay fresh.”
“Only a few days remained of the year he needed to have the manacles ready when the Blood Mage appeared with families and friends of the hundred he had sacrificed in tow. A long battle ensued between the villagers seeking revenge and the shaman and his apprentices, but in the end they were victorious. They spent the next two days combing the Shaman's hideout making sure that all of the Dracair within were slain. The Blood Mage used the pool of blood(not knowing what lied within) to enhance his will as he caused the mountain to shake causing thousands of pounds of stones to fall down blocking the entrance, creating a tomb for his once-rival.”
“Many years later a Gray Elf raiding party chanced upon a Dracair who had become nearly feral in his time below the surface. It took some work, but eventually they found that the Dracair had been young when the attack had occurred, and he had escaped through several shafts that led deep into the earth. Having long ago claimed all of the land beneath the continent of Terravol as their own, the Fallen Elves were intrigued by the stories of what they might find in the den of the powerful Shaman. It took several months, but they eventually the Dracair's memories bore fruit, and they found the way back up into the mountain. Many of the wondrous items the Shaman had once possessed had been taken after the battle, but in one of the rooms they found an item that would make it worth all of their effort. Inside one of the side caverns sat a crater, it's walls a deep glossy red. At first it was difficult to discern the manacles at the bottom, because they were the same dark color as the crater, but find them they did.”
Nim paused, making sure that he had the boys attention, he did. “Anyway, it didn't take long for the Gray Elves to become curious as to the purpose of their new acquisition. They began by testing the manacles on their slaves, the only noticeable effect being that the manacles fit whomever they attempted to place them on. They also found that the manacles were exceptionally strong, and couldn't be broken by ordinary means. This in and of itself was quite the find, however the Grey Elf Priestesses of Yultair could feel the malicious intent emanating from the manacles and knew that there was another purpose to which they could be set. Yultair is the Gray Elf god of carnage, their chief deity, who many believe to be just another form taken by the Dracair god Relikos. The Priestesses prayed to their god, sacrificing much before they received the answer they were looking for. Yultair told them that the manacles could be used on any form of caster, be they Shaper or the chosen of a God to stop them from being able to access their power. It didn't take long for word of such a powerful artifact to get around, catching the attention of more than a few of the inhabitants of the cities down below. I'm told that the leader of a gang of rogue Grey Elves stole it from the worshipers of Yultair, using it for many years to increase her power. Eventually the manacles somehow made their way to the s
urface. Whether they were lost by a failed raiding party, or whoever was wearing them at the time somehow escaped doesn't really matter, only that it did.”
Nim paused to walk over to the drink counter and poured himself a little something to cure his parched throat before finishing. “The legend of these manacles had been passed down for the last few hundred years amongst select circles of the Dracair, and the Grey Elves. Tidbits of the story were slowly heard by other ears as well, which made the manacles a much sought after item for those who covet power at any cost. As we saw last night the manacles somehow ended up in that rather large collection. The man all of it belongs to not having the sense to keep such a thing hidden, caused quite a few interested parties to find out about it. The Grey Elves, Dracair, and a few minor crime lords in the Syndicate of the Raven all want the manacles. None of those groups wanted them as much as the Blood Mages however, and they rarely do their own dirty work. No, for jobs like these they contract out the work to one of their agents in whatever town, or area, that they are dealing in, letting it be known by the other parties that they will not tolerate competition.” He turned around to see the boys staring at him, their eyes wide, minds filled with new ideas and places. He figured that this was the first time the boy's had ever heard of a story like this, and he could see the look of wonderment in the boy's eyes. He studied Victor for a moment and he could see that the boy was already putting together the pieces of the story into a full image, and knew that he was nearly ready for the biggest revelation.
“So, I ask you Victor. How many other thieves did we see last night?”
“None” Victor said, his tone unusually cold and defeated.
“None!” Nim pointed his finger in the air, and then pointed at himself. “I know that I am not working for the Blood Mages, and no one else in town would make a move on the manacles before the Grey Elves, Dracair or the Syndicate made their play for them. I know that I'm not working for the Grey Elves. I have enough loathing for the Dracair that the question shouldn't even be posed, and the Syndicate has too many practices that go against my sensibilities. So, this means that you are working for someone who is an agent for one of those four parties, or more likely one of the last three parties working for the first. Now Victor, I'm going to give you a guess as to whom Ol' man Walkins works for.”
Victor Deus (Heritage of the Blood Book 1) Page 12
