Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1)

by Roberto Vecchi

  The messenger leaned in and whispered something into the queen's ear which caused her to look directly at him, clearly with several questions. He spoke something to her again and her head instantly snapped to the large twin doors standing opposite the vaulted throne.

  Thrusting them open, as if on cue, was a robed figure, his head shrouded and set inside a deep hood. He appeared to be wearing nothing but ragged clothes, brown and impossibly dirty, stained with mud and grass and all other manners of filth. His boots, if they could be called boots, were worn thin. He carried no weapons, yet approached the Queen with the easy and lithe athleticism of one accustomed to all aspects of physicality and lethality.

  "It cannot be," said Queen Glinovia through a whispered vagueness betraying her shakiness with the intrusion of this figure. He continued his steps, in complete ignorance of those around him. His focus was utter and his intent fixed squarely upon the young Elf seated on the throne. Again she said, "It cannot be," this time, loud enough for Lady Soliana to hear. As it was Soliana's sworn duty to protect the Queen at all costs, she rose and strode directly toward this mortal, her hand upon her sword.

  "Proceed no further, or you shall incur the wrath of the Queen's Royal Guard," Soliana resonated loudly. As the hooded figure stopped to stand in the center of the large room, the other guards encircled him with their swords drawn and brandished.

  "Identify yourself!" demanded Soliana.

  In a raspy voice barely louder than a whisper, the hooded figure spoke, "It is wise to send your army to aid the Stone Keep. Queen Glinovia is correct in her assessment."

  It was now Lord Hinthial's turn to address the intruder, "Who are you? I demand you identify yourself to this War Council and its Queen!"

  The figure continued to speak from within his hood, "Queen Glinovia, the Stone Keep should not be without assistance from the elves."

  Still silent, the Queen glanced to Soliana and then back to the figure. But Lord Hinthial did not share her silence and persisted in his demands, "How dare you interrupt this war council and address the Queen in such a manner. Now, I demand you remove your hood and identify yourself!" At the conclusion of his words, the guards each took one step closer.

  Slowly the cloaked figure reached up with both hands to remove the veiled fabric covering his face. His most striking feature was his completely white eyes. The only sound was that of Soliana gasping as she dropped her sword. It hit the ground with a resonating ping echoing into all the mysteries of the known world. Eriboth had returned.

  These were not ideal conditions, even for a master assassin on his hundredth mark, let alone for a novice on his first, even a novice of my apparent inherent skill. This was not the simple assassination of a small town pseudo lord who was protected by rabble separated from the peasants only by the swords they carried. Nor was it the assassination of a simple government official who's only protection was his own poor awareness. This was potentially a singular defining mark upon which an aspiring assassin could build his reputation. It was complex in its necessity for infiltration and equally so in its planning for escape. This mark was formidable, even for my mentor, but making it nearly impossible was the fact its completion was requested at dusk on the first day of October, leaving us only three days to complete the surveillance once we arrived at The Stone Keep. Three days. Kinarin's estimation of the time required to complete such surveillance, under normal circumstance, would take three weeks at a minimum. But three days is all we were given, and it was all we would take.

  During our journey across the land, we had both grown silent in the contemplation of all the required possibilities and variables we would not have time to properly plan for. The possible scenarios were endless, and I finally understood why he had always insisted on avoiding any speculation and planning prior to gathering first-hand information. One could go mad simply from supposition, but supposition and its subsequent assumptions were all we had. And while my mind was consumed to the point of utter restlessness driven from questions I could not possibly answer, Kinarin remained calm and showed no outward signs of doubt.

  At one point in our journey, when I was unable to contain my questions and doubts any longer, I broke my concentration from the stars above and asked Kinarin, "Will I succeed?" To my dismay, I was met with only the easy rhythm of the master assassin's breathing as his fatigue had induced a very deep sleep, a depth his life had allowed only on the rarest of occasions. Lying there, silent and filled with doubt, forced once again to take solace in only the twinkling of the stars to quiet my hopelessly unwinding mind, I came face to face with a question that had maintained its distance in the recesses of my consciousness. Involuntarily, I spoke this question aloud, perhaps in a desperate hope that someone would answer it, "Why?"

  "The life we choose allows us circumstances that present with a combination of freedoms and constraints, Drin," I was startled when Kinarin spoke and answered what I thought I had rhetorically offered to the universe. He continued while I silently listened, "These small freedoms allow us moments of reprieve from the very question you just asked. But these moments of escape are only fleeting because the ties that bind us to the life we chose will always remind us of what we do not know, what we cannot possibly know; why. As an assassin, we face this in the defining moments of our existence. We kill at the request of another, but we never know why. At first, this will eat away at you as it did me. You may even confront the guild leaders, as I did and futilely refuse further marks until you are given more information. But refusing the binds of life will result in nothing more than unnecessary," he paused as if he was remembering, or considering something, "obstacles. Do you understand what I am trying to say, Drin?"

  "I think so," I said tentatively.

  Sensing my apprehension, he turned his head, barely lit by the moon and stars, "Illusion, Drin. I am talking about illusions. The illusions of life created by the freedoms we think we have can powerfully influence our decisions. Following these illusions will cause us to rebel against our own choices and the path we must necessarily walk as a result of that which binds us. The more we rebel in the hope these momentary pseudo-freedoms allow, the more friction we cause ourselves, which inevitably leads us to question why. Thus we have both completed and perpetuated the cycle creating a never-ending circle of joy and despair."

  "How can we stop the cycle?" I asked.

  "Discipline. Practice. Patience. The same principles that have sharped you into the bladed death you have become will allow you to steal your mind against the influence of these freedoms."

  "Is that what you did?"

  "No."

  "How did you break the cycle?"

  "I have not," he said with finality and turned his head away from me, looking deeply into the night sky. He seemed to become lost in the infinity of its depth. It was not long before I heard his breathing resume its slumber induced, even rhythm. I had always admired how easy it was for him to sleep, and how quickly he did so. I hoped to one day acquire his level of mastery with this skill as well, but he has yet to instruct me in its secrets; although perhaps, he had just begun. I was soon lost in the lesson he had just spoken, and found my eyes growing very heavy. But in the darkness of my slumber, I heard echoed in my soul the very question I was advised to avoid. Why?

  Just as he had planned, we arrived at the outskirts of the Stone Keep with just over three full days to plan our silent assault. A holding of this size allowed us with an advantage not found in smaller communities - anonymity. It was easy to remain unseen in the open because it was common place for travelers to come and go. Suspicions would not be elevated by the entrance of two more travelers into the hundreds they received each day. This would allow us to infiltrate the areas we needed allowing us to gather the information we needed without raising unneeded questions. Maximizing our time, we each took different assignments. Mine was to search for a possible infiltration point, while Kinarin endeavored to find a secondary exit, should the need arise. How he was
going to do this without first infiltrating the keep itself, remained a mystery to me, but nevertheless, his reassuring and infrequent smile indicated I need not worry.

  By nightfall, I had arrived at our predetermined rendezvous point. I seated myself at one of the tables in the center of the tavern and ordered an ale. Ever since the Selection Feast, I had developed a taste for the brewed drink. It seemed forever ago. No, not forever, but a completely different existence beyond forever. I had changed so much during my time with Kinarin. And these changes were not limited to a physical nature. My mind had become a reflection of the steel hard edge my body had assumed. Both formed in the forge of an impossibly relentless instructor, they were both the cause and effect of the other's development.

  As I took a long pull from the remainder of my darkly brewed pint, Kinarin sat down in the chair across from me and ordered his own. "Well, do you have a way in?"

  "Yes, but it is not without peril," I answered.

  "Tell me," he directed.

  "There is a single window at the very top of the keep. I do not know where it leads, but its sightline allows us to remain unseen for our breech as long as we can scale the wall during their guard rotation."

  "How long?" he asked.

  "We will have less than two minutes," I paused while he considered my last statement. "Do we have a way out?" I asked, successfully pulling him out of his silent concentration.

  "More. The window you speak of, it is the only exterior entrance to the throne room. It will lead us to a ledge upon which you will carry out your mission. It appears the guard rotation between the inside and outside posts is staggered. The inside is changed when the outside is complete. While this is a great strategy for defense against attacks from a large force, it is not so for an attack of subterfuge. It will play to our advantage. Once through the window, you should remain unseen until your mission is complete. Our preferred escape would be through that window you saw, but should that not be possible, we will be faced with the impossible task of fighting through the interior of the keep,” he said before he paid and thanked our serving girl. After she had left to tend to another of her guests, a single, short gentleman sitting in the corner, he continued, "After you make the shot, and you will have only one opportunity, we will have to exit through the same window, as fighting through the guards will not allow our continued employment because we will be dead."

  "But the outside guards will be in place? How will we do this?"

  "It will require a leap of faith of sorts," he said as he smiled and downed his ale.

  As he expected, his time in the monastery allowed him the solitude with which to progress in his knowledge of self to better understand those around him. Living within the confining halls and solitary rooms of the Brotherhood for the first thirteen years of his life had sheltered him from the various idiosyncrasies of those who lived outside. However, since his expulsion from their fraternity, his time traveling the land had innately taught him many things about the outside world. Life was simple to him. He woke, he lived, and then he slept. He did not question things as he had witness many others do. Instead, he existed in a state of movement, feeling instead of reasoning where he should go or what he should do. And while this methodology of life allowed him to ascend quite rapidly within the ranks of the Brotherhood as long as his feel aligned with their deductions, it was quite counterproductive when they inevitably clashed.

  And they clashed abruptly during one of his tests when he believed his teacher had overstepped his boundaries and admonished him for his methods regardless of their correct result. He questioned his teacher in front of the other students, which drew further admonishment, to which he, again, questioned, leaving the teacher no choice but to result to physical punishment. From his very first memory, armed and unarmed combat was simple. He saw, he acted upon his sight, and he won. Again, this simple view of martial combat allowed his proficiency to exceed his age and time spent in practice. As such, when his teacher tried to strike him, he moved and acted.

  The result of which was his direct expulsion from the Brotherhood. For an organization steeped in the strict disciplines and lawful respect of authority as deeply as the Brotherhood was, they could not allow Vennesulte to continue his full membership, but neither could they completely disavow his association. To do so would also admit their rules and constraints were insufficient, and that was tantamount to blasphemy. So included in his expulsion was a clause dictating his allowance into the other monastery locations for a period of no greater than six weeks. Limiting his association in this manner assured them that he would be unable to set roots and "taint" the other students.

  As expected, Vennesulte did not question their decree, for questioning the occurrences of life was not allowed in his simple viewpoint. Much like his view of combat, his view of life allowed him to wake, live, and then sleep without the unnecessary entrance of the mundane and endless questions people outside The Brotherhood seemed to be paralyzed with. Life was simple, or at least he knew it was, but for some reason, the outsiders constantly found it necessary to imbibe with useless cares and questions resulting in the propagation of suffering. Most recently was the suffering of the young man he saved while on his journey to yet another of the Monasteries. There were two facts resulting from his intervention. Firstly, the death hounds were dead, and secondly, the young man had lived.

  But for some reason, the young man was transfixed on what had not happened. His father had not been spared, and when confronted with the reality of the situation, he had reacted poorly. Even unto the physical attempt to assault him, the one who had saved his life. He saw how desperately the young man was drawn into despair and how it paralyzed him from doing what was necessary for the continuance of his life. He did not feel an emotional connection to the sadness the young man held within, but he did feel an obligation to fulfill what his life had become occupied with. So, he escorted the young man and allowed him to fulfill his current life of being included in the Silver Selection. And because it did not cause his deviation from visiting the monastery located in the same city, it felt correct.

  His training continued as planned, at least, as much as it could considering he was left to his own endeavors for his instruction. While it was a standing order to provide him a bed and meals for the whole of his stay, not included in the standing orders were any other benefits included for full or partial members of The Brotherhood. As such, he received no other attention from the inhabitants. But his solitude afforded him with a unique opportunity well suited for young Vennesulte. It gave him the chance to explore those endeavors, both martial and otherwise, that felt right, and only those endeavors. No longer was he restrained by the laws of logic and deduction. Yes, he still utilized what he had been taught, but now he was able to develop himself without being bound by the confining ties to structure for the sake of structure.

  But his time was soon ended by the same decree that gave him solace. During his stay, he heard rumor of a very large monastery, possibly the largest in the land. It was located a considerable distance away, but he was sure he would be able to find it. He did not expect any assistance from the Brothers with whom he currently resided, but neither did he expect any hindrance. And they were true to his expectations. Not one of them gathered to see him away, but then again, not one of them spoke to him directly while he was there anyway.

  His journey was uneventful, for the most part. He did encounter a small group of bandits along the road who took him for a simple small boy. Unfortunately for them, they chose him as the subject of their next robbery, thinking the young boy would be an easy target. They met their demise at the end of his staff. While their presence could have been seen as an unfortunate occurrence of life, it did provide him with the necessary provisions to complete his journey without the need to stop to resupply. As such, he arrived at the city of the monastery in time to witness what he thought were several unusual events. While these observations seemed to be completely unrelated and indep
endent of each other, there was a nagging feeling that they were not. For reasons unknown to him, he felt they were interconnected and dependent upon each other.

  He was not surprised when he saw the young boy whose life he had saved, but he was surprised to see an older man join him at his table. They were speaking quietly and intently, much too intently for the random conversation over a mug of ale. Then, his eyes were drawn toward the end of the narrow street where he saw, walking with purpose, a group of roughly dressed armed men and women. They were headed toward the center building, an immense structure of utter stone and solidity. Looking back to the young man and his friend at the table, and then down the street again, he was sure they were connected, if not now, then perhaps later, but it felt as if they were connected to each other, even connected to him. He was about to enter the tavern and introduce himself again to the young man, but brushing past him was a short man with short black hair wearing ragged robes. He was indistinguishable from the other patrons except for the staff he carried. He was a wizard, and he too was connected.

  "Have they returned?" said the ornately dressed man as he overlooked a stack of papers adorning his large, oaken desk situated in the center of an impressively large and appropriately furnished library.

  "Yes, they arrived a few hours ago. I do not like their look, My Lord. There is something feral about them. Their eyes seem to hold a wild nature about them," answered a tall and finely dressed elderly man. He was standing in front and off to the right of the oaken desk.

  "They are mercenaries, Trisick, not the pampered Keep guards you are familiar with. They have just completed a very difficult assignment and are in need of rest and food. See to their meals and make sure they are comfortable," he ordered.

  "Yes, My Lord, but they are insistent they meet with you at the soonest possible hour," the tall man spoke.