Reign of Immortals

by Marin Landis

  "Eek," she let out a sharp little cry. "Luchis, this old woman has thrown thorny branches in my face! See her off immediately."

  "Hells take ye," screamed assassin-hag almost hysterically and turned, hiking up her skirts and made rapidly for the woods. She wouldn’t be seen in this area ever again.

  Not bothering to divest himself of his disguise he traveled in the tree line as much as possible, but otherwise still off road, east. He imagined pursuit from the worker’s camp to be unlikely but didn’t want to have to deal with anyone at all. He feared little, but he did fear failing his mission. He feared the spread of religion amongst his people and thus feared being delayed.

  He needn’t have worried because he caught up with the child within a couple of hours. The boy was in no hurry evidently and was dawdling along the road kicking stones and daydreaming. At all costs he wanted to ensure this child was unharmed, certainly by him but also by Luchis’ foul machinations. Sending a child to Llanifre from here was potentially dangerous.

  The full journey took him about six hours. Luckily the only danger to him or the boy was a wild dog who caught the boys scent and loped along to investigate. Sjarcu thought it an unlikely danger but send the cur running with a carefully aimed, egg sized rock to the muzzle. Just in case.

  They had come to a Y shape in the road. Left led up to the hills in which Llanifre hid in a small valley, about four miles further on. To the right was a road that led eventually to Uth-Magnar. A signpost signified as much and it was to this wooden pole with rectangular placard that the boy walked. And then behind it to a small bush. He hunkered down and seemed to scrabble in the dirt for a couple of minutes. Sjarcu had, while keeping a close eye on the boy, skirted around so he could view the courier from a small hillock. Once he had finished whatever he was doing he stood and pulled a small tube out of his pocket and held it to his lips. A shrill noise escaped from what was evidently a whistle and the boy shrugged, put the tube back into his trousers and started on the long journey back to the work camp. That was Sjarcu’s assumption anyway. He couldn’t play nursemaid any more though and resigned himself to a lengthy wait.

  First of all though, he stepped lightly over to the bush where the boy had been doing whatever he was doing.

  Not wanting to leave any trace of his presence, he stepped only in the indentations the boy had left and squatted more or less in the same place that he had done. The disturbance was plain to see when you knew where to look, but anyone taking either of the three paths wouldn’t be looking unless they had foreknowledge that something would be here.

  The boy had covered a paper pouch with leaves and dirt which again was plain to see once you knew something was there. He took the pouch and adjusted the scene so that it looked undisturbed. He smoothed over the footprints the boy had left, and that he had used a second time, and then disguised the area, obscuring the fact that two people had been here recently.

  Sjarcu moved back to his original spot, moved to behind the hillock and lay flat, keeping his peripheral vision on the path from Llanifre and slipped the letter from the pouch. It was indeed the letter that Luchis had dictated to Lissa, addressed to ‘R’ and from ‘L’. No master spies these, though he had no idea who ‘R’ could be. The content was mostly what he knew anyway along with some banal frippery exchanged. He’d wait here until morning for ‘R’ and then he’d scout the temple to make sure that the poison he had embedded within the poison had taken effect. It wouldn’t kill Lissa, but she was in for an unpleasant couple of weeks. She wouldn’t be able to keep food down and she’d be confined to her bed if Talvar medicine was anything to go by. Doubtless they’d blame the quality of the food or the environment. Maybe Luchis would remember the old lady with her thorny flowers and connect the two, but then that would never have happened at Llanifre. This would probably be enough to sour feelings but would it be enough to destroy relationships? Luchis hadn’t overstepped his bounds quite yet, but he suspected that he would given enough prompting. The Reliquarians, an ‘R’ right there, were a different matter. It seemed they had a history or an interest in religion and seemed sympathetic to the human religious order rebuilding the temple.

  Leaving an alarum token at the spot where the boy had buried the letter he lay back and looked up at the sky. The sun was at its halfway position between midday and dusk and the sky still deep blue. He felt a measure of peace just watching birds wheel and the occasional wispy cloud float by and then there it was.

  That unmistakable pull of Aur, stronger than he had felt before. From the west and not that far. This occurrence was rare enough for it to be unlikely that the events were unrelated. Someone, or something, had used divine magic recently, twice and he needed to know who or what that was. This was his charge and failure was unthinkable. Should he wait for ‘R’ or come back to this particular issue at a later time? Upon reflection he knew that he’d delayed, quite significantly, Talvar involvement in the rebuilding of the Seharian temple and quite possibly put a dent in the relationship between the Reliquarians, Luchis and Lissa and the Church of Mithras. A relationship that ideally should not exist.

  He’d wait here until dusk and then follow the trail of Aur to its source.

  Sjarcu awoke. He stole sleep where he could. No decent assassin should ever be tired. The alarum had sounded in his head, prompting him to come to instant wakefulness. That was a turn up, he expected to miss out on whoever ‘R’ was. He flipped himself onto his front and peered towards the hiding place. He was shocked by what he saw. There was no Talvar, but a young human female, standing at the same place that he discovered the letter.

  He’d had enough of being circumspect, besides, this child wouldn’t be able to tell one Talvar from another. He shimmied out of the voluminous, figure disguising dress he wore and shucked the wig as well. He’d return to bury them later. As quick as a flash he stood and sprinted towards the woman. She heard him only at the last second and had no time to react, turning ever so slightly before he was on her. Sjarcu grabbed her by the hair and pulled her hair backwards, his head thrust close to her face, his Asp blade in his hand and at her neck.

  “What are you doing here? Be sure to tell me the truth or the blade you feel at your throat will drink deep.” He spoke in a low voice to make himself sound more menacing. Probable overkill, but he had little time for half measures.

  “Please, don’t kill me, I’m only a messenger.” She was almost in tears.

  “Answer or die!” he hissed.

  “I’ll prove it, please don’t hurt me,” she whined, tears starting to flow. Sjarcu was annoyed at that. She was breathing heavily. Very heavily, he noted, she didn't look that unfit, but her chest was rising and falling alarmingly, even distractingly. That should have been the first thing that tipped him off.

  "I was paid a silver bit to come to this spot and collect a missive, I don't know anything other than that." Her voice was cultured and incongruent with her appearance. She looked like nothing more than an average peasant girl that someone would hire to fetch and carry. If they were kind of course. She was an attractive woman and she could probably earn more than just a silver piece using her natural gifts. He found himself looking at the curve of her hips, hugged as they were by her tight leggings, her bare arms and smooth pale neck. He let go of her hair, she was no danger. A voice in the back of his head was niggling at him. Something is wrong here, something is just odd about the whole thing. Whether it was some sort of delayed puberty or just a young man's normal desires, but he felt real attraction towards this woman like he'd never felt towards another. She was nothing like Sura. This young woman was wonderfully in proportion, her arms toned but not lined with wiry muscle as his mentor's were. She was feminine, yes that was the word. That was a concept that held no weight in Talvar society and Surakoita had no truck with being womanly, but this woman was like a vision of loveliness from an old painting. He realized that his heart was beating faster and he could feel the blood rushing around his body.

  She was look
ing at him oddly, her head slightly tilted, the tiniest of smiles on her face trying to push past her look of fear and desperation. No, it was gone. He'd imagined that.

  "I can prove it, look here in my pouch," she reached slowly to her belt-pouch, presumably to get the silver coin with which she had been rewarded. Did she think he was robbing her? Slowly, very slowly she reached in and then removed her hand, now holding a small object.

  It wasn't a coin she had in her hand. It was his dignity, it was a hard lesson in following instincts and self-awareness. She knew well the effect she was having on him. She didn't know how or why, or even who in the Hells this was, but she knew the look. And she was no mewling servant girl or peasant for hire. She had half expected something of this nature to happen and she was prepared. Her tears were fake, but her skill and her malice were real.

  Sjarcu on the other hand was not prepared. He'd trained for years to be prepared, but his teacher had not banked on one thing. The raging hormones of a teenage boy.

  She flung her hand out and a fine spray of some silvery powder rushed to meet his face. He tried to avoid contact but he was too slow, or rather she was too fast and her action too unexpected.

  He couldn't breathe, his eyes burned and he could not open them. He felt a terrific blow to his chest and unable to keep his balance he fell to the ground. He felt another blow to his back as he covered his face with his hands. He curled up into a ball as much through a protective instinct as a pain reflex. His eyes were streaming and his breath was coming in a ragged rasp, it was as though he had sand forced down his throat.

  "Keep your nose out of Reliquary business, devil." He heard her voice, so different to the pleading earlier. He was relieved that her words were not more final. Should she have wanted to kill him he would now be dead and a warning meant that she had no further plans to harm him. He felt rather than sensed her absence shortly thereafter. He dragged himself, still blind, to the road's edge and rolled onto the soft grass. Long minutes passed before he was able to open his eyes a mere slit, but eventually made it to his previous hiding place, opening his mind's eye as he fell into K'sha, the small death. Within his meditative state he was unfettered by constraints of the body and would heal faster, allowing his mind to think clearer. All his pain and discomfort immediately lifted from him, leaving him to consider his next actions.

  He could no longer see the woman but his perception was very limited in this state. He could look down upon his own body but he was unable to move his consciousness. It was said that Sjahothe had the ability to travel anywhere in the blink of an eye during K'sha but many were the myths attributed to the legend that was the First Defier. He believed he was safe at least and would recuperate within a couple of hours. The real issue was the Aur. He couldn't ignore that, it being his prime mission. This thing with Lissa and Luchis and the Reliquarians would have to wait. Personal though it now was he wouldn't put his hurt pride before Shrike business. Even though, and it wasn't easy to admit to himself, he really wanted to see the woman again. She could have killed him, but did not and he had awoken something within him. He really wanted to see her and she was on his mind for the two hours it took to recover, return to his body and set off back along the path west.

  The road took him past Summershade and he was pleased to note the lack of progress on the Temple, though what they would have done is anyone's guess. He didn't venture to the camp, weak as he still was from the poison thrown in his face, unsure if he'd be able to fight off any attacks or run effectively. He no longer had his disguise so would become immediately suspicious. Talvar were rare enough that the unexpected appearance of one would cause quite a stir, not to mention that he couldn't possibly be seen by any other Talvar, him being dead for half a dozen years.

  Once the new day dawned he was feeling much better. He had retrieved his travel pack from a tree outside Summershade, had eaten and donned a change of clothing. No longer did he smell of that poison and his belly was full. He was happy to have foiled a fledgling plot and discovered feelings he didn't believe he could experience. Not only that, but the presence of Aur, strong or close enough for him to feel, was exciting. It meant that there were powers at work, divine powers and though facing them might be dangerous, it was what he trained for, what he lived for.

  He found the trail at a guarded keep. There was no immediate indication of who lived there but the livery of the guards suggested someone devoted to a Sun deity. There was a large forest almost completely surrounding the keep and he spent a few hours spying on the inhabitants. The noble who lived here was not in attendance for there was only common folk going about their business. There was more children than he would have expected, poor children judging by their clothing and accents, but this wasn’t interesting enough to keep his attention for long. A tree that stood before the keep had soaked up a large amount of Aur and a trail led away from the keep so there was no need to stay here once he had established that what he sought was not here.

  It felt good to be on the road, with a purpose, no disguise and very little reason to hide. If he saw anyone approaching or heard horses behind him he made himself scarce, but other than that the thought of achieving something real and beneficial to his people motivated him greatly.

  He found himself eventually at a great forest, this must be the last natural boundary before Amaranth, he knew. He was excited too at the thought that he might need to spend time in that great city. Sura had told him many times that if there was anywhere in this entire world where Talvar were tolerated, if not respected, that would be it. A city preoccupied by lust for wealth and gain had no time for pointless and possibly profit-reducing bigotry. Then again, he needed neither tolerance nor respect.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Encounters

  “I always laugh in my head whenever someone talks about civilization.” - Calra Alpre.

  Sjarcu wrinkled his nose in disgust. The cave was filthy, strewn with detritus and a fire was burning what looked to be a large rat on a spit. The fire itself was the only light source, but that was immaterial to him who needed only the slightest amount of light to see.

  What he saw was an open area, the center of which was the cooking fire, several rocks arranged around it as seating. Beyond that were a number of crude partitions fashioned from branches and old pieces of cloth evidently purloined from passing travelers. There was no doubt that much of this cave was filled with stolen items, then again, weren’t all goblins thieves and scoundrels?

  He saw them, hiding behind rocks, imagining that his kind couldn’t see well enough in low light to know they were there. There were at least half a dozen of them and none dared to face him. He added coward to the list of negative traits he knew these wretches to possess.

  At any other time he might have slain them all, but there would be no profit to it. They were not the source of the Aur, but it had been here. There was no trace of it now though. He sighed, his cheekbones clenched and nostrils flared.

  “Come out, whosoever leads here, come out now.” He spoke clearly, in the common tongue of the realm, that which all trade depended on, so most would have at least a passing familiarity with it. There was no response. Either they were so alienated from other peoples around them that they understood him not or they were displaying their predictable cowardice. He suspected it to be the latter.

  “Come out now, or I shall slay the old woman hiding behind that pillar yonder,” and he lifted his arm to point dramatically at where the elderly goblin female hid shivering behind a large stalagmite.

  Still no response.

  “Very well…” he started, “I…”

  “Wait,” came a tremulous cry. It was the old woman. Was she the chief? Surely these creatures were not enlightened to that degree.

  She limped out of the darkness, a hard life etched upon her face. Goblins lived to their forties if they were lucky. This female, probably in her early thirties looked to be the equivalent of an ancient crone in human, and Talvan, terms. Dressed, like most
of her kind, in rags, although hers did have some sort of order about them. Her legs were bare and she wore a shift that was short enough or her to be able to squat and perform a call of nature without lifting her skirts. He deliberately prevented himself from thinking of any other utilitarian benefits of such a short garment. It was riddled with filth; old food, blood, shit and Sjahothe knows what.

  She looked fearful, her eyes wide, her hands quivering as she held them out towards him.

  “Mercy, Lord. I can speak your tongue well. What would you have of us?” She did speak well, maybe the tribe’s spiritual leader and he noticed a bone necklace around her neck. A sign of superstition. His lip curled involuntarily.

  “Recently, there has been an event in this very cave. Tell me of it.” He hoped he had been clear enough, he longed to leave this place and was holding back his temper, and repeating himself might be the trigger to violence.

  “Ahh, yes, Lord. Some days ago, our chief, who is now licking his wounds over there,” she inclined her head towards the hiding place of a goblin the man had noticed already, “returned with a human female. Dead as coal. The boys were poking and a-prodding it, as boys do, and then it came back to life. The woman belonged to a mighty warrior who then killed a few of the boys and took her away again.”

  She closed one eye, flinching, as if expecting a poor response from him. He stared at her for a few seconds.

  “From which way did they come? In which direction did they leave?”

  The old goblin woman started to stammer. He’d confused her. “Where did they come from, old mother?”

  She settled down a little at his pretended friendliness and took a deep breath. “Chalonga said that she was new to the forest and wouldn’t have made it through without help, so he thought he’d kill her instead. Very bad omen,” she frowned over in the direction of the still hiding ‘chief’.