Sapling: The Blade of Ahtol

by Dan Gillis

  Steeling himself, he let go of the wall and felt his stomach lurch under the effects of a free fall. As he dropped he remained in line with the wall, as the structure was perfectly cylindrical. The green strands fell behind unable to match the speed of his descent. The wind was whistling in his ears as his tattered robes flailed about his head. Zyr watched the ground fast approaching with intense concentration. One small slip and Nuril’s problems would be solved. At the moment of decision, he slammed his hands into the sheer surface of the tower which sped past him. Grunting in pain, he squeezed his eyes shut attempting to discipline his mind to avert the overwhelming pain. Heat and pressure threatened to disintegrate his hands upon the stone yet he struggled to maintain the enchantment which strengthened his hands like unto iron. The pressure was also great upon his arms, he had to keep his fingers imbedded in the stone and the friction of descent and rock were resisting. He could not risk using his feet for it would upset the already tentative balance he fought to maintain. With no counter leverage to push against the stone with he had only his strength to thrust his hands into the stubborn stone with all his might. Finally, in order to keep the alacrity focused he abandoned discipline and gave way to the impulse to roar out in pain. It echoed the wounds in his heart. As he plummeted on, he was slowing, but the ground was approaching fast. He spied the most adequate escape lane and breathed deeply. At the last moment he dislodged his hands and kicked off from the wall, stretching his body full out, his arms pushed out above his head. As he came swiftly to the ground he tucked his body and began to roll, each movement had to be precise, no body part exposed to the significant force for more than an instant. He rolled hard and felt his body groan against the shifting vectors. He continued to revolve his body like a thundering wheel, as he desperately tried to hold the tuck together. His body slammed into barrels and dragged over stone and wood, rending his garments and flesh, all of these helping to slow his inertia. Finally, he smashed into the wall of a nearby building, completely knocking the air from his body. Gently, Zyr rolled himself over, gasping and retching for recovery of breath. His watering eyes saw the mystical bands of green retract back within the tower window now high above him.

  In his daze he thought he saw her standing at the window far above, peering down at him. “Tehsa," he mouthed wordlessly. He let his head slump down on the ground, his eyes closed again from the agony of the night’s abuse upon his body; its nerves screamed at him in disdain. His mind, however, was stoic and cool with the bitter coldness of vengeance. She was here and she was a blood-traitor, a Defiler, and the enemy. She would find her end among the others of her kind now. There was to be no mercy for the corrupt and vile abusers of all that was pure. His heart was rent in twain; deep within he felt a pang that overwhelmed all his physical pain. His breath returned at last. A raspy whisper escaped.

  “Tehsa … why?”

  She watched in cool disbelief as he lay there for many moments. He was always reckless, but this display completely unnerved her. ‘Why did he come here’ she thought. It must have been as he said, to find her. But to risk so much, on such a foolhardy and near-fatal venture, she felt there must have been another reason. It had been so long now; the years had melted by since he left her. Her head slumped against the stone wall and she sighed in frustration. Nuril slowly removed the veil and the daggers carefully from her hair. As each blade slid from her tresses, dark waterfalls spilled across her breast. She ran a hand absently through the shining locks and looked on at the stumbling fool. He slowly gained his feet and limped off into the night. She watched him carefully, with glowing ruby eyes. Before he completely faded from view, he turned and glanced at her. She felt a tremor in her heart which unsettled her and in frustration she struck the stone with a clenched hand. The plan of the Order of Cadres did not permit this needless delay. There was much to be done, now that the meddler had set back plans. She glanced at the broken black altar. It would need to be repaired or replaced. Neither option was easily achieved. She shook her head angrily. He had set her back at great expense in time and resources, and the Order would certainly be enraged. She detested Zyr so much, and yet her hate was not centered on this morning’s havoc. It reached further back than that. She cursed the day she met him, or became his friend. She wished she had not let him go. She looked at her hands which were trembling and folded about her midriffs, gently caressing her skin. She was bitter, but could not stop her feelings from surfacing. In the end, deep inside she did not want to stop them. She remained lost in time while gazing down at the empty street, surrendering herself to the pleasurable memories of the past.

  A soft tap upon the door dragged her from her private escape. She smoothly replaced the bladed veil and a fragile mask of civility.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened slowly admitting one of her cadre. He approached, as always pausing just past the darkened threshold. Nuril noted that the sun was now peaking over the far mountains. How long had she stood there? “What merits this disruption?” she demanded.

  The man hesitated for a moment. Perhaps it was seeing his mistress for the first time so informally. Perhaps it was the state of disrepair in the room, or the broken alter. Either way he remained speechless. “Speak or I’ll kill you where you stand!” Her voice came strangely high pitched and fast, uncharacteristic of her demeanor.

  “Forgive me my lady, I have news to report.” He faltered again, at a loss for words and it seemed to be related to the information he brought. Struggling on, he spoke cautiously, “My lady, the prize has escaped.”

  Her face darkened upon hearing the devastating report. Pacing the room she pondered to herself. This would create more difficulty, more setbacks. Her thoughts were interrupted. “Excuse me, but I must … I have to report that the Blade of Ahtol … has been stolen.” He barely whispered the last portion of the account.

  “What?” She wheeled around and swept over to him, grabbing his cloak roughly. The hood fell from his head from the violent motion and she glared into his fearful eyes. “That is impossible. It hasn’t arrived in Khyvla yet. The cargo is expected today.” He trembled as he started to slink backward; however, she maintained her grip and prevented his escape by crushing him into the wall. Her veiled face was but a breath away from his and her chest rose and fell in the anxiety of the moment. He struggled to maintain a sense of composure.

  “The shipment arrived late last night. It … it appears that the thief moved almost immediately following the docking. One man overwhelmed the entire armed escort stationed on the boat. The cadre representatives from Jandor are surprised as well …”

  “Of course they are! Idiots! They should have hired professionals, not common street rabble to protect it!” She ground her fist into the herald with increasing pressure. He was having difficulty breathing. The thought of retaliation would never cross his mind. She could wink out his life in a moment. “Be gone from my sight. Warn any who wish to disturb me this day.” She turned from him and paced to the broken altar.

  His final words were a bellows to the inferno of her mind.

  “But … my Lady, I have to tell you, the authorities are approaching the tower as we speak with demands to see the One Seat. Several of our numbers have been taken into custody, accused of witnessing or aiding in the slaughter of six Watchmen last night.”

  ***

  Ebyn perched upon a bench in the lower regions of the guild tower. He shook his head in memory of the previous night. To be bailed out by Gaeth was beyond imagination. That bumbling oaf had the audacity to follow him and assist in taking the prisoner. Yet deep within, he sensed that the battle had slipped away from him, and that he should be dead. His mind played over and over the sequence of events. Clearly, he underestimated the monk. The speed in which Ebyn was overtaken was unthinkable and frightening. He had stared his mortality in its merciless face and came out victor. His mind grazed over the chair flying at him; he had closed his eyes for the briefest moment. It should have hit! Did the monk miss intention
ally? His troubled thoughts were broken asunder as agonizing screams, drifting through the tower, reached his ears below. So the monk was suffering. It was well then that he had risked his life to capture him. Earlier, all had paused in alarm as the tower doomed like a gong, the thundering resonance coming from Nuril’s chamber. None dared to enter and seek answers. No one would go unless summoned. Earlier, a comrade had climbed the steps hurriedly and seemed intent on passing on information from the previous night. Ebyn had kept to himself, marred with the stain of defeat. He hadn’t spoken to anyone. Perhaps he could acquire information from the cadre-man when he returned from Nuril.

  At that moment, he jumped back in alarm as something flashed past his vision. He moved quickly from the antechamber to the stair which spiralled downward around the tower perimeter. Looking down in horror, he saw the same guildsman crumpled upon the floor below, blood pooling steadily around his head. He had fallen from the heights of the tower. Everything was thrown into confusion and the magi stalled in their impulse to ascend the stairs. Ebyn wondered to himself whether the man had fallen or was thrown. The entrance to the tower sounded the dull thumps of a visitor. ‘Who would dare such effrontery?’ Ebyn wondered as he peered down to the sealed doors. One of his blood-brothers moved cautiously to the door and gestured his hand to temporarily unseal the binding weave. As the doors opened he moved back a step. A formal looking entourage accompanied the chancellor of the city. A large uniformed guard stepped forward but, careful not to cross the threshold, his deep voice booming through the tower.

  “You will summon Lady Nuril to meet with this delegation without delay.”

  Despite adversity, the tender plant had taken root and was growing strong. Other more mature growth surrounded the Sapling in attempt to shield it from danger. The black weed was deceptive and near invisible in its entwining around the stem of the Sapling. As well, the young tree would soon pass beyond the shelter of the surrounding foliage and would have to weather the storms alone.

  Quelling Demons

  THE CITY awoke from its induced slumber. Every house spewed forth its occupants into the streets. Within moments after the end of curfew was sounded, the thoroughfares became bustling rivers of activity. The streams of people rushed here and there, moving intently to their destinations. The gates would not open for another half hour, allowing merchants and tradesman to prepare somewhat for the influx of visitors. It also allowed the vagrants and less fortunate to set up for begging, stealing and any other shady business that powered a lucrative market. A typical day in the city greeted the people of Khyvla. None were aware of events that took place in their city the previous night.

  It was through the swarming masses that two inconspicuous forms wound their way. They moved together, clothed in blankets, which were wrapped around their heads and draped down past the waist. To most of the city folk, they appeared as street vermin, and many steered a wide berth around them. The two continued on their way slowly to the merchant gates in the south-east corner of the city. One of them, the smaller of the two, moved quickly and stopped periodically - waiting for the other who limped after. It was slightly before gate opening time that they arrived at the heavy wooden structures.

  The immense doors of the gate were hauled open by use of a pulley and chain system. Several men stood half naked, preparing to exert themselves in the strenuous endeavor. At the sound of a loud whistle from far off into the city interior, the men took places around a pinwheel on either side of the gate (one for either side). The massive chains were stretched taut to the gate doors from the pinwheel gears. The workers exerted all their energies upon metal shafts which protruded outward from the wheel, and slowly the chains began to spiral around the gears, while the doors slowly parted. It wasn’t long before the gate entrance stood open, and the labourers wiped slick sweat from their bodies. A long line of merchant carts and waggons spanned into the distance, their owners prepared to move the procession ahead. They moved to where they could see the merchants as they approached.

  The gate marshals readied the admitting and inspection booths, as they did, they spotted a body strewn across the path where the gate had been closed. Angrily, they moved to the still form, and bent down to inspect the problem. As the two covered figures watched on from a distance, they saw the marshals recoil in disgust, standing and pushing the form over with their boots. The body stirred dust and grime as it flopped, until it came to rest against the stone walls adjacent to the merchant gate. As the marshals returned to their post, the cowled pair heard them mutter curses and profanities.

  “Forsaken merchants! Drunk and filthy … Seems every morning there’s one.”

  “Looks like he’s been messed with; still it’s one less drunk to deal with today. Let 'em rot! …”

  “That’s fine until the Captain arrives, then guess who gets appointed cleanup. Bloody merchant!”

  The two blanketed persons regarded the still man who lay in a cloud of dust. Slowly as the dust filtered to the ground one of the shrouded figures screamed out, “Tohm!” As she sprinted toward the gate entrance, the blanket swept from her shoulders. The marshals went to block her path, but upon seeing her state of apparel they made way and scowled as she rushed past.

  “Tohm? Tohm!” She cried out in alarm as she fell to the ground beside him. His chest was moving and the dust swirled from the breath in his nostrils. It was then that she gasped in horror. His whole face was severely burnt on one side. Then upon closer inspection, she hurriedly discovered that his whole right side above the knees was blistered and scarred brutally. His hair was mostly gone and his face was contorted in the most desperate and sorrowful expression. “Oh … Tohm, why? Who did this?” She laid her head upon his chest as tears began to fall in despair.

  “Firah, who is this?” The voice came from her companion, standing just behind her. The merchants had already begun moving slowly through the entrance, completely ignoring the desperate scene.

  “This is the friend I was going to meet, Shien, but something has happened … oh, Tohm.” She brought his head up and placed her discarded blanket beneath his head after Shien passed it to her. She brushed his good cheek and shook her head slowly.

  “His hands … they’re practically black from bruising and blood.” Shien remarked as he bent down to inspect the man. Tohm’s clothes were also tattered and scorched black from fire. He felt the left wrist; there was still a heartbeat. “Well, I suppose we will have to get him to an inn. He needs immediate care from a physician.” Shien sighed; his little discomforts would have to wait. He moved to the gate, and was stopped short by the marshals.

  “This is the merchant gate, and unless you have wares, you must remove yourselves from here.” The look from the marshal was pure disdain.

  “We just passed through here! We had to assist that man, and he requires help now!” He moved toward the marshal, who put a hand upon the flustered man’s chest.

  “Use the main entrance and see if they will accept you there; any more talk and the Watch will be called.” He turned from Shien and continued his work.

  Shien was livid. “You heartless Vikyral-slave! You absolute vermin! Do you think we can possibly carry him that far?” The marshal glared at him and made a motion to another worker farther in, who disappeared quickly. Shaking his head angrily, Shien limped back to Firah. “We need to move, encountering the Watch right now would be well … you know.” She nodded quickly. Shien unrolled the blanket beside the large man. They took two limbs each (Firah on the legs and Shien the arms) and shifted Tohm’s massive frame onto the improvised lift. “I’m sorry,” Shien murmured, “I should have held my tongue … I just can’t believe the utter callousness of some people.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Firah grunted out behind gritted teeth as she clenched wadded rolls of blanket in her hands; it was all she could do was to move her end of Tohm’s body. “I felt the same … your words were right.” She thought about last night; she had felt the same about Shien. She marveled how fast thing
s could change. Suddenly, she stumbled and a blanket corner dropped from her grasp. The momentum tore the material out of Shien’s grip, and Tohm crashed to the ground. “Oh no! I can’t do this, Shien. He’s too heavy for me, even together. Look at you too; you’re hardly able to walk straight on your own. What are we going to do?” Her face began to fall again in hopelessness.

  “We’re not giving up, that’s what!” He came around to Firah’s side. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he looked squarely into her eyes. “I know it’s hard to do this, but if we just move a little at a time we’ll …”

  “Take the rest of the day and that will take too long.” A familiar deep voice remarked behind them. Shien whirled and Firah yelped. “You, grab that corner and, Firah, take the other. We’re moving to Tohm’s cart.” Firah had turned to see Zyr preparing to hoist Tohm’s massive torso. She gasped again.

  Zyr looked similar to Tohm, his body burnt in places as well as bloodied, bruised and cut, not to mention his robes that were tattered and sullied beyond recognition. Zyr favoured a leg as he set himself to lift. Shien was still gaping in shock; the man had completely caught him off guard. “Grab a corner!" Zyr snapped them from their shock. "I don’t have energy to waste!” Firah jumped into action. It was the first time she had heard the monk raise his voice in irritation. Shien grabbed the other side wordlessly but continued to watch the new arrival carefully. Together they hoisted Tohm on the heavy wool, all muscles flexing and knotting from exertion. Luckily, Tohm’s cart was not far away. He had almost made the entrance the night before. However, it was many slow, painful and agonizing steps until they reached the waggon. The line had moved around the dormant cart and merchants rode by wordlessly.