by Tyler Earp
* * *
Charley wrinkled his nose as the donkey in front of him let rip a large fart that twisted his stomach in a knot. Abe looked at him with widening eyes, waving his hand in front of his face before laughing and then just as promptly closing his mouth again.
Riley choked as the smell reached him. He looked at Charley and mouthed 'What is that?' Charley giggled and pointed at the flatulent donkey. The others started laughing as well. Rafe slowed his pace until he was almost walking beside the man behind them.
The elderly man walking with the donkey looked back at them and smiled. “Right rank smell, no? Sorry about that. Bessie never did do good with big cities. Name's Gus,” he said, proffering his hand to Rafe, who had caught up with them as the smell faded with distance.
Rafe grabbed his wrist and Gus did the same. “Rafe. This is my niece Nina and my nephews Abe, Riley, and Charley.”
Gus nodded to each of them. “New to these parts, are they- eh?”
“They're from up toward Norkeep, near Merriden,” Rafe said.
Gus's eyebrows rose into his sparse hairline. “I do no know how things are up there, but I would be careful when I mention being too closely attached to Norkeep at the moment. What with Castor and his bunch up around there and all the trouble it is causing for trade. But I suppose you came down here to avoid that– right?”
“We've been on the road for weeks. Is there any news on how it goes?”
Gus shook his head. “None good, I'm afraid. He gains ground at every turn now that young Calloway is gone and Duke Calais has rallied to his banner with another twenty thousand men and six thousand Salans.”
Rafe's eyes widened. “Twenty-six thousand soldiers? There hasn't been a host that large in the north since the War of Eight Crowns!”
“No. Closer to forty thousand with the mercenaries flooding his ranks now that they have seen that he can fight evenly with larger forces. He had less than three thousand men just a month ago, as you know.” He shook his head. “I do no know how high he will reach before he falls.”
Charley looked over at Abe and Nina, both of whom looked just as confused as him. Charley saw Riley was watching the exchange, his eyebrows knitted in a tight knot.
The conversation cut off as a guard approached Gus, his mail glinting in the afternoon, sun peaking over the top of the wall. Charley was reminded of a weasel when the guard lifted the faceplate. “What is your business in the Dent, farmer?”
“I'm here for a night. Gonna pick up a new sickle and some horseshoes for Bessie here.”
The guard pulled a scroll out of his waistband. “That will be three silvers for stabling and two for lodgings.”
“But it was just three for all that six months ago!”
“Do you not know anything? With Castor changing everything, prices had to rise. Pay, or you can leave.”
“But…”
“Like I said, pay, or leave. It doesn't matter to me.” Charley tried to step forward to say something, but Rafe
put his arm out, stopping him from moving forward. He leaned over and whispered, “Let me handle this one.”
Gus dug into a pouch at his side, face set in unease as he pulled out five silver coins and deposited them in the guard's outstretched hand. Charley saw the bag now hung almost flat.
The guard smiled, his face contorting into a leer as Gus walked through the gate, head bowed. The guard turned back to them and Charley could only think to himself how sleazy this man was.
“What's your business mercenary, or will I send you away like the rest?”
Charley saw the side of Rafe's mouth press into a coy smile. He tapped his finger against his top lip and murmured something to himself.
He then pulled the cape aside and revealed his shoulder along with an emblem stitched into it “Is that so soldier? You'll turn me away? Your own general?”
The guard stammered. “Gen– General Rafe? I had no idea it was you,” he said, throwing himself down on his knee. Charley looked at Rafe sharply. General?
Rafe barked a laugh. “Stand up. Now,” he said, stepping to the man's side, “you're going to give me that money you just bullied out of that man. Do it quickly.”
“Bullied, General? I did not lie when I said the price raised.”
“Yes, I believe you, but there is also leniency to those who can not pay, or has that also changed in the years I have been gone?”
“The Merchants Guild abolished that three years ago.”
“Reinstate it.”
“But, sir– they will have my head.”
“I will have it now if you do not. They know my bite is much worse than their bark. If they question you, give them this,” Rafe said as he pulled the insignia off of his shoulder and handed it to him. “Now, the money please.”
The man handed Rafe the money. Rafe then went on to say, “Now, I better not hear anything about you, or any other guard, denying the poor their rights.”
After they had passed through the gate Charley asked, “Are you actually allowed to do that? And why didn't you say anything about being a general?”
Rafe grinned. “No, I'm not technically allowed to do that, but he didn't know that. As for being a general– that was a life time ago. I'm not the same man I was then.”
Rafe then sped up, as he had spotted the farmer. “Oh, thank you!” Gus said as Rafe handed him the coins back.
Charley smiled at the old farmer's now bright face. Rafe responded. “Oh, it was nothing. I always did enjoy setting the guards straight,” he said, winking at Abe, who had been bouncing on the balls of his feet ever since the gate.
“I just can not believe that I did no recognize you, General Rafe. I fought for you all those years ago. Sixth Cannoneers Division, under Lieutenant Madder.” He snapped to attention with both hands crossed in an X over his chest, hands curled into fists and pounded them with a snap of his arms.
Rafe smiled and handed him a small piece of paper. Gus looked down at in confusion before opening it. His eyes grew wide after skimming it. Gus looked back up at Rafe and repeated the salute before flicking the reins and riding into the market.
Abe looked at Rafe. “What did you give him?”
Rafe smiled. “A little– motivation.”
Abe looked at Charley, who just shrugged back.
Rafe leaned over beside Charley. “That's how I choose to fight back. I do what I can when I can.” He shrugged. “Maybe one day you'll do more than I can. Never forget, choose your battles wisely.”
“Come on you four, we can still make it before he closes if we hurry,” Rafe barked over the loud noise.
Charley looked at Rafe's back. “Make it where?”
“I told you, to a friend. Don't worry, we aren't far now,” he said over his shoulder.
As they walked Charley saw a throng of men and women standing behind stalls with neatly laid out jewelry, different foods in bins, and pieces of cloth in piles.
He looked up at the towering buildings. None of them were conventional skyscrapers but were made out of giant slabs of stone that looked like they belonged together.
It reminded him a little of the time that his mom and dad had taken him to New York City, and he had been surrounded. The smell of sewage was much more evident here, unfortunately. Like a thousand donkey farts.
The noises and smells soon overwhelmed him and he had to grab his forehead with one hand as he walked behind Rafe.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back and saw Riley. “Are you okay Charley?”
“Fine. Just a headache,” he said with a slight smile that turned into a grimace as his head throbbed again.
Nina dipped her hand into the bag across her shoulder and pulled out a white pill after a few moments of fiddling in it. “Aspirin.”
“Thanks.”
She smiled. “No problem.” Charley couldn't help but notice how much her smile lit up her face. Charley shook his head. It's not like you've never seen her smile, Charley. Focus.
They w
alked down several more streets crowded by people. Many of them tried to be louder than the next, leading to the one beside them to hawk even louder.
Even the others had to cover their ears. Rafe seemed to be unaffected and continued to weave in and out of the throng of people. He left a path that they were forced to follow in or be separated.
Charley ran into Rafe as he stopped in front of a store. “Careful there! You need to learn to pay more attention… Now, come on. We're here.”
With a tinkling of a small bell they entered a store in one of the smaller buildings. As the door closed behind them, the sound outside became muffled.
Mounted on the walls were fierce looking swords, sharpened spears, and deadly axes. Armor rested on mannequins in neat rows throughout the room. Behind the counter was a cavernous hole leading into darkness, and to the side of the room a pair of stairs led downstairs somewhere.
Only one other customer was in the store, eying one of the most severe blades with a hide wrap on the pommel and a thin hand guard. There was nothing pretty about the blade. Nor anything about the man was pretty.
Charley could tell by the scars criss-crossing his body that this man had seen a lot battles, even though he only looked to be a few years older than his dad.
The man looked at Rafe and nodded. As he looked at Riley one eyebrow rose, but he snorted when he looked at Charley, Abe, and Nina in turn. “You three look like you could barely lift a rapier, let alone a broadsword. You on the other hand,” he said to Riley, “look like you have the right size even for Princess,” he said, tapping the broadsword on his back.
Rafe barked a laugh. “You would be right there, stranger. That's what I am for.”
“What are you, a fencing instructor?”
A sound from behind the counter made all of them turn. Appearing from the door was the largest man that Charley had ever seen. His large bear-like hands dwarfed the large blade he held in his hand. His mane of hair was pulled back into a ponytail, thought white wisps escaped. “He's much more than that, Hans.”
Hans laughed. “I bet I could take him, Bamard,” he said, looking Rafe up and down.
Rafe smirked but said nothing. Bamard responded. “I could make you a wager on that.”
Hans looked back at Bamard. “What sort of wager?”
“That blade you are always longing for in exchange for your mercenary's license.”
He appeared thoughtful, rubbing his goatee. “Bamard– you have yourself a deal.” He stalked off, going down the pair stairs.
Bamard let out a rumbling laugh as he looked at Rafe. “I'm sorry Rafe. I know you just arrived, but I've needed a way to put him in his place for a while. I hate cocky mercenaries, even ones that have earned the right to be.”
Rafe shook his head. “No need to apologize. This will be just as good a way to show these four the basics of the sword as any I can think of. I can also see if I have gotten rusty in the past ten years.”
Bamard laughed again. “That is one bet I would not take. I don't think it would possible for you to lose your edge.”
Charley sat on a bench as Hans and Rafe squared off against each other on a mat. Hans with his long blade and Rafe with his two shorter curved swords. Bamard tapped Charley on the shoulder. “See how Rafe puts his feet almost a should- widths length apart and then pulls one leg back to make himself a smaller target?” All four of them looked.
Bamard tapped a mallet to a bell and as the tone still sounded Hans thrusted forward. Rafe stepped to the side in a blur without the blade even coming close to him.
Hans continued to hack and thrust at Rafe, who continued to frustrate all of his movements by stepping past them or to the side, never giving any ground.
Charley couldn't have described it as anything other than a master at his craft. It just happened that Rafe's craft was the art of war, and his paintings were divine.
“Watch his feet. He pushes off with one leg while the other helps him keep his balance. Look at the bend in his knees to use gravity to ground himself.”
Hans tried several more swipes, his face growing red with anger when Rafe spoke. “Enough, you cannot hope to hit me with that giant thing. I could have killed you one hundred different ways.”
Hans came to a stop, his breath coming in ragged intervals. “Then what– do you– suggest?”
“Put that thing to the side and use this,” he said, proffering one of his swords to him.
Hans placed his sword to the side and returned, accepting the blade from Rafe. He looked it up and down and then gasped. “These are Sister Swords!”
Rafe nodded. “I know.”
“Then that makes yo-”
Bamard cut him off. “One of the thirteen sword masters of Undermire. The seventh, to be exact. The Black Wolf of Fithen.”
Rafe scowled. “In the ring, it matters little who I am. Right now I'm just a warrior. Right now, we fight.”
Rafe reset his pose. He now held both hands on the pommel but retained the same leg placement as before. Hans mimicked him with a less fluid movement. Once more, Bamard rung the bell.
“Watch this. I think this is going to be rather quick,” Bamard whispered to the four of them and then winked.
Hans was much warier now, unlike his uncaring blows of before. He analyzed Rafe before swinging. As soon as he raised the blade, Rafe moved in a blur so quick that his entire body disappeared. Rafe's pommel smacked him on the back of his knee, knocking him to the ground.
Hans cursed as he picked himself up. “I never had much of a chance, did I?” he asked, his face now set in a forced smile.
Rafe laughed. “No, but it is not by your own fault in training. Rather, it is from the extensive training I went through as a child. The fact that I can naturally Amplify my body does not hurt– even still, my response time was off. Any of the Thirteen would have destroyed me in minutes.
Hans handed Rafe the blade back. “Thank you,” Rafe rasped much as the blade did as it slid into its sheath. Hans then picked up his blade and slid it into its own sheath across his back before approaching Bamard.
He pulled a wad of folded leathers from the strap holding his blade on his back and thrust them at Bamard.
Bamard waved him off. “Keep it, Hans. You suffered enough humiliation already, I think.”
“Take it Bamard. You won the bet.”
Bamard shrugged. “If you insist,” he said, reaching out to pluck it from Hans' hand almost daintily with his large hands.
Rafe had walked over during the exchange and was now staring at Hans. “What do you want?”
“I want you to join us. You're good enough to train Riley.”
Hans spat to the side. “Why would I want to train babes not even blooded?”
Bamard laughed, but it was Rafe who answered. “Because he's The Child of Fire,” he said, pointing at Charley.
Hans looked at him intently then at the other three. “Is he, now?” he asked with wonderment in his eyes.
“Yes.”
Hans laughed. “You know, I think you're just crazy enough that I would actually say yes. I have one condition,” he said, raising a finger.
“What would that be?”
“You buy me that blade I wanted.
Ten
The Brotherhood
Deliverance to the Silent Lands is the only redemption for the uninitiated.
- First Teaching of The Brotherhood
The sun was setting by the time they left the shop, Bamard waving them off. Charley looked down at the blade at his right hip, still barely believing it.
He thought back to the measurements Bamard had taken of each of them. Measuring their legs and arms with a piece of knotted string saying, "This is the same string my master used… and his master before him."
He then had each of them hold different lengths of wood with different shapes to them. "Each of them is filled with lead to give a fair idea of the weight of a real blade. To tell the truth, many of them are heavier. But that just helps later."
Hans had gone, saying he need to collect some things from his boarding room and to break the news to his band. But not before saying, "Be ready to train. I might be able to make fighters out of you yet if you're anything like your master."
His parents had always been strict about him never having weapons. He wondered what they would think about him having this now. Nothing I would like, probably.
I would not be so sure of that. Your father is nearly as good a swordsman as Rafe.
My father? Charley asked, not believing it. It couldn't be the same person the voice was talking about. He had seen his father drop more than one knife while peeling potatoes or buttering bread.
There is a world of difference in preparing one's food and fighting for one's life.
I guess I'll believe it when I see it.
That you shall, young warrior. After that he felt the presence leave his head. Even after only a few visits, it was starting to annoy him that this voice would just drop in unannounced, hint at some information and then leave again.
Charley saw that Rafe had stopped in front of a small building with a sign over it that a large black dog snarling with lopsided words painted underneath:
The Barghest's Watch
Rafe turned back to them and grinned. "Built by my kind. Every inn with that sign is owned and run by those of my kind." He said, pointing up at it.
"Anyways, come on." He led them through the door. A rank smell hit Charley and by the queasy look on Nina's face he wasn't the only one affected. Charley noticed a man with a pipe in his mouth and every time he breathed out the smell worsened.
Rafe walked on, unperturbed, and handed a similar slip of paper to what he'd given to Gus to the large man, his stomaching sticking out from under his shirt, behind the counter. The man unfolded it and looked down at it for a second before nodding and hurrying out of the room.
"Come on, now. Don't stand in the doorway. You're likely to be run over,” Rafe said without looking at them.
Sitting in the room were several men and what looked like three large lizards with human-like hands with pointed claws at the end of them. All of the men avoided looking at the them and kept their shoulders hunched as they talked amongst themselves.
Charley could hear Abe whisper, “Are those lizard- men?”
Rafe looked at the small group to see if they had noticed before sending a glare Abe's way. “They are called Salans. Never let them hear you call them lizards. You might as well sign your death warrant.” Abe looked diminished for a moment.
One man stood out from the others. He sat bent over a table, by himself, in direct contrast to all of the other patrons.
A chill ran down Charley's spine, as he could almost tell that the man was staring him down. Charley shook his head. You're imagining things.
Rafe motioned them over to a table and sat down, his back against the wall with a full view of all the doors. "Starting tomorrow we're heading out. I thought tonight I might answer some of the questions you must have. Well– who's first?"
"What is-"
"How do you-"
"Where is-"
Charley, Nina, and Abe all said in a big jumble. They realized all three of them had attempted to talk at the same time and started laughing.
Rafe smiled. "I can only answer one question at a time. How about you take turns asking and I'll do my best to answer. Ladies first, I suppose."
Nina nodded. "How did you do that? With the sword?"
Rafe sighed. "I should have known that would come up. Like I told Hans, it is called Amplifying. Instead of training in sorcery, like most of my kind does, I trained in swords and transforming. It originated as an ability of The Children.
"Overtime, my magic aligned itself towards the uses of the body rather than the mind, so I am able to tap into it and use it like an energy source. It is a hard branch of magic to use, let alone master, for most humans."
Abe sat forward on the chair. "Are you saying that I could learn how to move like that?"
Rafe looked at him for a moment, his eyes becoming unfocused for a moment. "Actually, your power appears to be very well suited for just that."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that unlike your twin brother, your aura, or your magic, is waiting to be released. It is literally begging to be used."
Nina smiled. "Auras? Like with mediums and palm readers?" she asked with a certain amount of skepticism.
Rafe frowned. "No. A lot of what they do is fake or half right. I am surprised by you, Nina. Do not forget, here in this world many things use magic and can pierce the Veil to sense others who would use it.
“For example, your aura is bright and hard as steel, so I imagine you're an earth type. You are too steady and… rooted for anything else," he said with a smirk at the word rooted.
"Charley's is the oddest, though. It's unlike Riley's, who has a very deep aura; or Abe's, which is energetic. Charley's is– odd," he finished with a shrug.
Abe looked at Charley and squinted. He turned to Riley and shrugged. "Do you see anything odd about him?"
Nina and Riley both shook their heads.
"That's because none of you have been taught to sense, let alone see, auras,” Rafe said. “Riley could probably be taught to sense them with little effort with his affinity for magic. You others– there's no telling.”
Abe started jumping up and down in his chair to the point that he almost fell out of the chair. "I've got something. Why didn't you tell us you were a gene-" At that moment Rafe slapped his hand over Abe's mouth, reaching across the table to do so.
Charley saw several people turned around to stare at the sudden movement before muttering and turning back to their bowls of stew. Rafe put up one finger to his mouth before releasing Abe. The others stared at him with wide eyes as he sat back down.
Rafe whispered, “I would rather not have everyone in the Dent know that I have returned. We need to be able to move around stealthily for the time being, and having a large group is the very last thing that we want right now.”
Abe looked down at the table, his cheeks reddening. Rafe's eyes softened at the sight. “Do not worry. I am trying to protect you, even if sometimes it is hard to see that's what I'm doing. While with me, there are few things you need fear. I am not one of the Thirteen for nothing.”
A hand came down on Rafe's shoulder and then in a flurry the man lifted his other arm and Charley only caught the faintest glint.
Rafe tensed for a what seemed an infinitesimal moment and then a dagger appeared in his hand. Hearing a clang, Charley blinked. When he opened his eyes, the blade rested inside the shadow of the hood and. Charley recognized him as the same man that had been watching them earlier.
Charley looked with surprise at Rafe once more. He now saw that Rafe had been toying with Hans before, as this was at least twice as fast. So fast, in fact, that Charley hadn't even seen a blur.
A single drop of blood fell onto Rafe's shoulder. The man then slumped to the ground with a heavy thud. Red gleamed dully on the tip of Rafe's blade. Rafe hefted the blade. “Exhibit a, I suppose, on how I can protect you,” he said nonchalantly.
I just watched someone die.
Rafe looked at him, seeming to read into his expression. "Don't worry, Charley. He's not dead. Just stunned from the poison on my blade." Rafe turned to the others in the tavern. “Will one of you please go retrieve the guard?”
Finally, a man got up from a chair near the door and ran outside calling for help. Rafe knelt beside the man and pulled aside his cloak with everyone in the pub watching on.
In the hand that had been hidden was a knife similar in size to Rafe's, though even Charley could tell that Rafe's was far superior in craftsmanship. On the man's chest was an icon of an old-fashioned weight with one arm weighed down by coins and a heart in the other.
Many of the people gasped at the sight of it. Abe jumped up and down, but didn't say anything. The man soon returned with a platoon of guards, and for a few
moments it looked as if Rafe would be taken in for questioning.
Rafe settled them down by pulling his cloak to the side, showing the guards the insignia on the armor that had somehow returned to his shoulder, and then also the icon on the man's chest.
They pulled the man into a chair on Rafe's orders and waited for him to regain consciousness. The man appeared disoriented at first, but when he realized who was leaning over him his mouth turned into a leering grimace.
"The Black Wolf of Fithen returns. I won't be telling you nothing, and I’ll give you nothing but the silence you deserve," he growled before attempting to spit in Rafe's face. Rafe pulled back and narrowly avoided the spit landing on him.
"Well, I suppose I should have known someone would have realized I had returned. I assume you work for Ramas, then? Only a few of The Brotherhood know me by more than just reputation."
"Like I told you, I won't be saying nothing."
Rafe grinned wolfishly. "You won't have to." He turned to the guards standing behind the man. "See if the a few weeks in the dungeon will loosen his tongue." Rafe appeared thoughtful for a moment.
"Make sure you have at least three guards posted on his door at all times, or you can be sure that the Brotherhood will have him winkled away so fast it would make your heads spin."
The guards saluted him before clapping the assassin in handcuffs.
Rafe turned back to them. “That is what I mean by dangerous. Even here, in a place protected by my people, you were still at risk,” he said, looking at Abe.
A woman walked up and stood behind Rafe. Her long golden brown hair splayed over her shoulder in a tight, whipcord braid. Light green eyes swam with mirth. She leaned over near Rafe and whispered. “I assume you're The Child of Fire's guardian, then?”
Rafe gripped his knife. “Who is asking?”
She pulled her hand back and motioned for him to relax. “I'm Jaelyn.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “A squirrel sent me.”
Rafe grinned. “Join us then, Jaelyn Squirrel-sent.”
Jaelyn glared at him. “How many squirrels do you know of that can reflect a Cait from its prey.”
“Not many, I suppose.” Rafe relented. “Do you have any idea of who it might have been?”
“Not a clue.”
Abe started jumping up and down on his seat. “Yes?”
“W-what's a Cait?” He asked, in a loud voice. Several people looked around in distress at him, giving him a dark look.
Rafe groaned. “When are you going to learn to control yourself, Abe?” He lowered his voice. “To answer your question, it's a Cait. They are a form of large goblin cat. I would say they range from about the size of a mountain cat to the largest tending toward the size of a tiger.”
Charley sat forward. “Can they do what you do?”
Rafe looked at him quizzically before understanding dawned in his eyes. “No. They can't change their shapes. They are what you would consider feral.”
Riley frowned. “Feral?”
Jaelyn spoke up. “Feral as in they lack the compassion required for transformation to human forms.”
Nina spoke for the first time since Jaelyn had taken a seat. “Exactly who are you?”
Jaelyn smiled. “Someone who can help. I can't reveal who I am, not yet at least. Just know that I would lay down my life just as readily as Rafe Fithen to keep you four alive.”
Rafe laughed. “From the looks of you, I'd say you're Sidhe.”
“Half Sidhe, but yes.”
Rafe looked at Charley. “She can be trusted. If a Sidhe, even a half Sidhe, promises something, they are held to it by their Edicts. Now that the introductions are over can we eat some food and get ready for tomorrow?”
Almost as if Rafe's words had summoned him, the rather large man from behind the bar reappeared through the door and came around to put large bowls of stew in front of all of them, including Jaelyn.
Rafe's eyebrows rose but said nothing about her also having a bowl. Charley pushed the meat chunks and vegetables around until a mini-funnel was created in the center of the bowl.
Nina bumped his shoulder with hers. “What's wrong, Charley? Normally your food would be half gone already.”
Charley looked at her, not hearing what she was saying at first. He shook his head and said, “Nothing.” He shoved a few bites into his mouth all at once to prove it. Nina looked away in disgust. While on the inside he was thinking just how close Rafe must have been to killing that man.
Even if that man had wanted to kill or take them, Charley still didn't think violence should have to be the answer. Yes, he knew that it was inevitable sometimes, but he felt it shouldn't have been necessary.
He still couldn't understand how someone he didn't even know could want him and his friends dead. He shook his head again, this time to knock the thoughts from his head.
At one time I would have agreed with you. I, too, hate violence, the voice whispered without the mirth he usually felt present. I would rather things to be dealt with more… civilly. Unfortunately, that is not the way of this world anymore.
Anymore? Charley asked.
Yes. When this land was much younger, it was much like your Earth. Calmer. Livelier. More… manageable.
What happened?
The Ancients happened.
Charley still couldn't understand it. Why would the beings who had lived in harmony with Undermire suddenly take over?
The reason everything truly happens in nature… survival. They just weren't betting on The Children to appear.
Why are you telling me this? What did they need to survive?
Let's just say that I'm betting on this race, and you're the horse I chose. I need you to win almost as much as you need you to win. And you still aren't asking the right questions.
So I can trust you?
Charley could almost feel the voice laughing. I suppose you can trust me about as much, if not more, than you trust Renwick. I do what's best for me. If it ever comes to the point that misleading you becomes more advantageous, I wouldn't hesitate to do so. Like I said, everything is about survival here.
Why would you tell me something like that?
Because I honestly hope it won't come to having to trick you.
Eleven
Speaking of Power
“Power is all that matters. The only difference between you and me is that I choose to use mine, dear brother.”
- Renwick Mordecai
Lifting herself into a standing position on her clawed feet, Maxima looked down, over the side of the cliff.
The Catacombs had always been the home of her people. The large mountain range had a huge array of tunnels and caverns connected by tunnels made by a race close in relation to ants.
The creatures, the Poll-ants, had been enslaved by the war-like Salan centuries before to burrow further and further into the mountains for minerals until nothing had been left to excavate.
Maxima thought about her reason for coming. Earlier in the evening, a young Salan had approached her, silent as a shadow. He had moved to her side and palmed a note into her hand and then disappeared again.
She knew that there was a good chance that she would never see him again. The Master's servants were always mysterious, especially his messengers.
Below her, a group of Salans were finishing another statue to Hiberon, whom they unknowingly called their Dark Master. Maxima sneered, her sharp canines poking down over her bottom-lip as she looked upon them. Ants, all of them. Wriggling around, hoping for a scrap. Fitting that we live in a home we stole. Fit to create nothing original, only to destroy.
Thinking back, she remembered when she had been just like them: squirming around on the bottom of the Catacombs, with no future in sight except the dim light from above and the rock that surrounded her.
“Pathetic, is it not?”
Maxima twisted to face the figure, her shoulders falling in relief at seeing who it was. “Renwick. You really should not sneak up on a High Priestess like t
hat. Even someone of your powers might find himself in trouble. Especially when one wields the authority of Hiberon.”
Renwick gave a mocking bow. “Oh, I know I must fear that giant oaf's powers. Come now– We both know that you serve a– higher power. I think that you will find against someone of my powers you would still fall woefully short of Our Lord's highest servant.”
A clap of light and a reverberating booming sound met his words.
Maxima felt a strangling Will surround her, and the breath was forced out of her lungs. It was so dense she was rendered motionless in front of his great power.
He came to stop in front of her. “I think that you will find my power much more– refined than Bramly's. That idiot does not know half of the power that we possess. He would rather be the good brother. The righteous brother who can do no wrong. Well, I say let him. I will be the powerful brother.” He stopped to look at her again.
“My apologies. Were are my manners? Here I am, rambling on, and I have not even given you the message you were sent here to receive.” He grinned. “Our Lord requires something of you.” The power disappeared and she was able to move again.
She stood looking at him expectantly. He let out an annoyed grunt. “Are you not going to ask me what it is?” A wild gleam appearing in his eyes.
She took an involuntary step back before steadying herself, right at the edge of the cliff. She sent a small shower of rocks down the side of the wall. “What does He will of me?”
A crooked smile once more overtook Renwick's face. “See, was that so hard? You may be a powerful witch, but even you must bow down to me– Very well then. He requires you to reinstate your line of spies, so he may once again follow the plotting of Hiberon. Another thing.”
“What else would He have of me?”
“You learn very quickly, Maxima, but this directive comes from me, actually. Your second objective– is to kill Charley Ashe.”
She looked at him, her mouth turning down in a frown. “Who is the Ashe you speak of?”
His grin widened. “He is The Child of Fire. I led him through the Flow just this day. He is now in Talas.”
“Renwick, I don't understand. If you lead him through the Flow why did you not simply kill him then?”
Renwick scowled. “I can not directly do the deed. There are many barriers protecting young Charley.”
“Would you have me kill him like a common assassin?” “Use your imagination. You are a powerful servant of Our Lord, after all. It matters little, as long as he is removed from the picture… permanently. We can not afford for The Prophecy of Ash to become reality.
“Be wary, though– My brother is doing all he can to bind powerful men and women to Ashe's cause. The true threat, for now, comes not from Charley himself, but from those he will inevitably draw to himself.”
