Absinthium grinned, realizing that the goblin had placed himself in the mage’s pocket. “Nvv-Fryyg is a fool, but his dirtside resources are coveted by my master; I do appreciate you’re a fellow cunning mind. For the loyal, there will undoubtedly be great rewards. Perhaps you seek an arrangement like that which exists between myself and the real Jandan king? You wish to rule, perhaps as the puppeteer pulling strings?”
The goblin exhaled a huff of agreement: a treasonous and wordless declaration.
As the conversation turned political, Rashnir’s interest waned. The two discussed manipulation, assassinations, and riots. Rashnir only planned to foul one of their schemes; they would lose the ability to manipulate their tool, Harmarty. The king would not survive this night.
Rashnir eased out of his creeping pose and slinked back through the hallway. Passing through the corridor, he found the access to the fifth floor. The steps leading upstairs would probably end in an open, guarded lobby. Rashnir prepared himself for frontal assault if need be, but stealth would be much less messy. Nearby, a large column of stones resembling a chimney stood. Inside the column was a dumbwaiter system used to ferry items directly to the king’s chambers, among other locations.
He opened the grate in front of the aperture and peered inside the shaft. Ropes connected to counterweights and trays were within reach; he leaned into the access point and grasped the rope. Writhing, he squirmed all the way inside.
Hand over hand he pulled himself upwards, fully aware that one slip would send him spiraling downwards five or more levels. At the top, he found a clear view of the bedchamber through the grate.
Poking his head through the access, Rashnir examined his prospects. Men and women slept all around the room. Random floorspace was bulked with pillows and blankets where the king’s cronies rested. Bodies lay everywhere; the scene likely the aftermath of a drunken orgy.
The room’s center, on a raised dais, boasted a large, canopied bed. Heavy drapery hung from the corner posts: the king’s bed. Rashnir looked around but could not spot the bodyguard, Rutheir; he was the only one that Rashnir felt could cause any trouble. Assessing the guests from a distance, none of them appeared to be warriors. These sleepers were only here for Harmarty’s personal pleasure and amusement.
Silent as a cat stalking its unaware prey, Rashnir rolled from the shaft and onto the shadowy floor. Starlight streamed through the gigantic windowpanes shedding enough light for Rashnir to find a path through the sleeping masses. He crept through the maze of people and onto the dais. Silently, Rashnir slid inside the heavy curtains that shielded the bed from the rest of the crowd.
Harmarty lay in the center of his immaculate bed, completely nude. He lay alone, sprawled out upon a top sheet. A pained look set on his sleeping face. Blankets and quilts had been kicked aside, lying rumpled on the floor as if he’d thrashed them off during night terrors.
Vengeance burned inside Rashnir. He cut two long strips from the bed sheet and stepped onto the bed, standing over the body of the condemned.
The assassin looked down again, finding wicked scars all over Harmarty’s hairless body, especially near his genitals. The thought occurred to Rashnir that the king was perhaps the victim of secret abuses; maybe some ill fate influenced him—molded him into the twisted man he’d become. Perhaps this was the reason no female shared this bed.
Rashnir’s heart almost moved to sympathy for the perverse man; the glimmer of a tear seeped through Harmarty’s clenched eyelids. Mental backlash seized Rashnir; his mind rejected any thoughts of pity. How many tears had soaked Kelsa’s cheeks as she screamed for Rashnir in the flames? How many tears streaked down Dane’s face as he lay broken and dying on the ground?
Eyes narrowed by rage, Rashnir’s muscles tightened with resolve, teeth clenching. He jammed the first length of bedsheet into Harmarty’s mouth to keep him silent. The sleeping king awoke with a jolt, but Rashnir overpowered him. He pinned Harmarty’s arms down as he flailed violently. Rashnir tied the second strip around Harmarty’s head to completely gag him. Scarcely a muffled moan could escape.
With the monarch completely subdued, Rashnir slapped his face to get his attention. Harmarty’s eyes took a fraction of a second to focus in the low light. Their eyes locked on Rashnir’s as Harmarty recognized his assailant. His eyes sank into his skull as dread realization set in. The king knew he was about to die.
Leaning forward, Rashnir whispered into the Harmarty’s ear, “Do you remember me—what you did to me?” The gagged man trembled slightly, crying like a child.
“I don’t possess the resources to strip you of everything like you did to me, so I must settle for killing you,” Rashnir whispered. “I know that this means I’ll never have my name officially cleared for the murders of my beloved, my teacher, and Rogis’s extended family. But I also know that as long as you live you’d never let me find redemption. You have too much pride to acknowledge real honor or truth. But your death will at least prove to me that justice exists!”
He hissed into his prisoner’s ear, “I want to let you know that Kelsa always despised you and I hope her spirit is allowed to torment you in whatever afterlife exists.”
Rashnir ran his short sword into Harmarty’s gut. The sword penetrated Harmarty’s stomach, angled up, and pierced a lung. Full of silent rage, Rashnir twisted the blade and violently jerked the hilt.
Harmarty’s pain-wracked eyes spasmed open and shut. His eyes opened one last time, and then all light faded from them, leaving them dull and glossy. Blood soaked through the rag that gagged him and his body relaxed; his back no longer arched from the tormenting pain. Rashnir was confident that Harmarty had died.
He peeked through the curtains. The scene beyond the canopy remained exactly the same as it had been minutes earlier.
Rashnir rolled the corpse over. He mopped up most of the loose fluid with strips of bedding and then wrapped Harmarty up in a bedsheet and set him on the floor. He used the loose ends of the sheet to tie the shroud tight. Just as he’d done countless times in his mind, Rashnir made the king’s bed up as if it had not been slept in and checked the scene over. Not a spot of blood was visible.
Silently, the assassin carried the body back to the hidden entry where he’d found access. Rashnir reached through and tested the weight on the lines until he found an unweighted one. He pulled a great deal of slack through and tied it to one of Harmarty’s feet.
Pushing the limp carcass through the slot, it dangled a few feet below the opening. Harmarty’s body hung between levels like a used-up bug hanging from a spider’s web. With even a fractional amount of luck, it would be days before anybody found the body. The stench would eventually give it away.
Slipping inside the shaft, Rashnir replaced the grate after a final scan to see if he’d left behind any evidence of his presence. He slid down the rope until he arrived at the third floor. Rashnir didn’t want to chance an encounter with the mage and goblin on the fourth.
No one here was awake. Rashnir skulked through the hallway until he found a door he knew would lead to the vine ladder. He quickly clambered down to the ground, unseen.
Finding the courtyard still empty, he picked his way back through the rear gate. He retrieved his fatigued horse and climbed back into the saddle. Rashnir galloped away just as the sun announced its presence, cresting the horizon with a flare of color.
Morning broke and the emotional high Rashnir had been riding finally crashed. The adrenaline ebbed from his system and emptiness suddenly seized his heart. He felt like a hollow shell. Grief ravaged his mind; with his nemesis killed, he had nothing left to live for—and yet the gall of his bitterness still clung to him like a calf mired in its own dysentery.
Rashnir reached for the short sword, contemplating suicide, but quickly threw off the notion. He still had something to drive him: his promise to return and serve Kevin. Perhaps he could still find meaning in his life; could this man provide such a thing?
In the t
ime it took Rashnir to ride back to the village, new questions continued to plague him. Some comforted him, others confounded him. What exactly were the goblins and that arch-mage planning? How was the monarchy involved? Harmarty was surely twisted and insane—the most self-centered man Rashnir had ever encountered—but Absinthium seemed to seethe and radiate evil, wearing it like a cloak. What did the Luciferian Order have planned for Jand?
Rashnir dismounted as he neared Grinden’s borders. He gave the stolen horse a slap on the rump. It squealed and trotted off; it would eventually find its way home.
On foot, Rashnir continued back to Grinden. Once more he entered that city as a freed man owning nothing. Perhaps, his new life could start?
He would know soon enough. Rashnir had a meeting to attend at the Green Serpent Inn.
Chapter Six
The dingy air inside the Green Serpent Inn added a layer of darkened film over its residents. Pipe-smoke filled the air and wreathed the interior surfaces with a thin layer of soot—the settled smoke of ten thousand past exhalations gathered like sticky dust on the tables and chairs.
Letting in a shaft of light, the main entrance swung open. The silhouette of a cloaked figure wandered in and the door drifted shut behind him.
Kevin, and his two companions, Jorge and Kyrius, watched with rapt interest as the nondescript Rashnir walked through the room. His gait and the sunken look around his eyes revealed enough. The trio knew that his personal mission had succeeded. He approached and found the empty seat they’d saved for him at their table.
The Green Serpent Inn was a low-key tavern and dining establishment. While it had a few rooms available in the rear for travelers, its usual guests were those who had taken too much in their cups at the late hours of evening. They were a mix of middle class workers and a handful of reputed scoundrels. At this hour of the day, there were seldom many customers; the Green Serpent was not known for high quality food—just cheap, warm ale. At the moment, only one other customer occupied the floor; very hung-over, the disheveled man could barely maintain his slurred conversation with the innkeeper who kept trying to hedge away from any banter at all.
Rashnir settled his tired frame into the chair and leaned forward into the conversation. Kevin had a sheaf of papers and a stylus. He and his fair-skinned allies had been conversing and drawing up notes during their wait.
“I am here,” Rashnir announced.
“You are a man of your word,” Kevin replied, “I knew that you were. I could discern it from our first conversation.”
“You kept your word to me and I am now in your debt. Tell me now what you require of me.” Rashnir paused. This stranger seemed to care about the fallen Ranger’s personal life and so he continued. “I feel like an empty man; I have no purpose left in me. I feel I could die without so much as a quarrel, but if you find some use for me, then I welcome it.” Rashnir’s voice sounded old, like an elderly man’s. He slumped in his chair; his vengeance was achieved, but it only left him more hollow than before.
“I told you that I wanted someone of your skills. You have many talents, Rashnir, and I want to utilize most all of them. I want you to travel with me.”
“But I am marked, irredeemable.” He held up his hands to again show Kevin his scarred, ugly palms. “If you employ me as a bodyguard, then we will all be stalked and killed by bounty hunters or soldiers—not that it matters to me any longer, but surely you value your own life. When you gave me a weapon earlier it was secret and in confidence; this act would be open treason. Regardless of how some people feel about corrupt and selfish monarchs they still obey them out of traditions and respect. Grinden may put on a façade of neutrality, but if the Jandan or Nindan governments really want you, they could come in and take you.”
“I believe in you, Rashnir. I know that what I am doing will fly in the face of the rulers of these lands, but I am not subject to their authority. I obey the One who rules everything.”
Rashnir’s eyes traced a line to a Luciferian tome sitting before Kevin, next to his stack of papers. The writing didn’t make any sense to him, as if it were in a foreign language not native to men.
“No,” Kevin deduced his thoughts, “I am not a Luciferian. This book is for research. I follow the one true God; I am obedient to Yahweh. I know the fullness of the truth and came here from Earth, quite accidentally in fact, where we call ourselves Christians.”
He raised his eyebrows at Kevin, learning this new term, “Krist-chin? What is this teaching?”
Now, fully in each other’s confidences, Kevin explained, “You have part of the teaching from Luciferian doctrines. I know the fullness of truth because I know the One who embodies all truth. You see, the best way to tell a lie is with some truth mixed in, so that it will be believable—and the humans of this realm have long been deceived.
“What you know is that Yahweh created Earth and He created Heaven and He created Hell and all of Earth’s animals, as well as some that now inhabit even this place. He created humans and breathed life into them. He set them up as caretakers of His creation: Earth.
“Luciferianism tells you that mankind had been slaves, merely mindless automatons. This is a deliberate error, Rashnir. They were obeying Yahweh, doing what was right when Lucifer, the demon hay-lale’, desired that they disobey. At that point there was no such thing as sin or evil. Humankind could not do any wrong because there was no knowledge of what wrongness was. Yahweh was, and is, purely holy and righteous. Because of His nature, no creature could tolerate His presence if there was evil in him.
“He is like light. Light is like goodness and darkness is like evil, or the absence of good. Darkness cannot exist in the presence of light. Are you following me so far?”
“Yahweh is good and light,” Rashnir said, slightly confused. “But isn’t Lucifer also light?”
“Lucifer is a liar. He is the Father of all Lies. He was once an angel of light, but when he chose self over Yahweh, he became absent of that light; he had emptied himself of goodness by breaking away from Yahweh, his source of light, and turned dark. He was cast down from heaven and he took many angels with him.”
Kyrius and Jorge knowingly nodded their heads in accord. “We were there,” stated Jorge with his low, rumbling voice.
Kevin continued, “He was jealous of the power given to mankind. Lucifer was an angel, and special status was given to man. Mankind was created in Yahweh’s image, they had the opportunity to make choices—freewill, whereas angels were the tools that Yahweh used. Men choose to worship the one true God, Yahweh, because of what He has done for us out of love. Angels had a choice to make when Lucifer was cast out of heaven: whether to follow God or follow self and cast their lot with Lucifer. One third of the angels followed Lucifer and fell from Heaven as supernatural abominations: these are the origins of the demons.
“You see, Lucifer only wants to bring about the destruction of men because of his jealousy for them. Lucifer was bound by his own hatred and rage in this jealous state; men were given the same job that Lucifer once held: praising and worshiping Yahweh with their voices, actions, lives. He was especially jealous because men were so much better at it than Lucifer, the great angel. He was furious.”
“Oh, he shone brightly,” Kyrius interjected, “He could sing and made music so incredibly pleasing to one’s ears. Lucifer loved the Lord in those days. Where he walked, his footsteps were like incense and he led the musicians and the choirs, composing such masterpieces that none will ever compare with. I was there, I sang with them, but the songs of men were so much more moving to Yahweh. The lone, untrained voice of Adam rose above our beautiful noise and warmed His heart.
“There was nothing special about his voice,” Kyrius mused. “His music was not overtly beautiful, or well put together. It barely even resembled a song, but it pleased God and we had trouble realizing why, until the times after their fall after we watched mankind multiply.
“You never mentioned children, Rashnir,
but I assume that you have seen children with their parents. Very young children?”
Rashnir nodded his head.
“Think, then, about a toddler, singing to his father or mother with words of adoration and love, a simple, made-up child’s song. That is a song that will make a parent stop and pay attention, despite the circumstances; you would cherish that song above any orchestra. No symphony can compare.”
Kyrius’ comments brought a glisten of wetness to Kevin’s eyes.
“Men,” Kevin said with a strained voice, “are Yahweh’s beloved creation. As a father loves his children and adores them, so Yahweh loves us. With the angels, I would compare them to a beloved animal. You may love and cherish it and enjoy its company and grow close, but it is nothing like the affections of your own child. If a dog tried to bite your child and intends him harm, a wise parent gets rid of that dog, no matter how good of a dog it was prior. Sometimes a dog might become jealous for attention and decides to hate that child and attack it. Despite wanting its master’s love, that animal has switched its loyalty from the Master to itself. This is what Lucifer did.”
Rashnir looked at Kyrius and Jorge. “You are angels?” he deduced, feeling as if Kevin’s comparison to pets should have insulted the tall humanoids.
“Correct,” Jorge said. They maintained a logical indifference and even voice; no offense seemed to have registered in them.
“But I thought that the way between realms was closed.”
“It was,” said Kyrius, “But Yahweh is all powerful. If He can shut a door, He can also open it.”
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 10
