“Indeed she has,” Markus agreed. “Now the only unwanted scar I carry is you.”
Specter grinned. “We both know that’s a lie.” He walked toward the tavern door. “Too bad none of this is real. I could use a drink right now.”
Markus followed, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. With every moment that passed he was realizing more and more that Specter was in fact his strength. His very demeanor and swagger told of a man not to be trifled with. And the scars…he had never seen them through the eyes of the rest of the world. They were gruesome to be sure, but hugely intimidating.
Inside, the tavern was filled to capacity. Laborers and merchants alike frequented this place. Although not set in one of the wealthier districts, it boasted some of the finest ales and liveliest entertainment in Miltino, providing an affordable good time for all common folk. Fights did break out periodically, but never anything serious. Markus could only remember three deaths, two of which he had been responsible.
He caught sight of Specter standing in the far corner and eased in beside him. Those nearby took no notice of them at all. Markus assumed it was because they could not be seen and confirmed this by trying to speak to a serving maid as she skipped nimbly through the crowd.
“Look at you,” said Specter, pointing to a table off to their left. “Over there with a wench in your lap. Those were the days, eh?”
Markus repressed a smile. “I was young. And I didn’t look like you yet.”
“True. And you were still full of hope.” He clicked his tongue. “Poor guy. You’re about to learn a hard lesson.”
A slightly built young man with ratty brown hair and a hook nose pushed his way through to the table and plopped down in a chair.
“Petris,” murmured Markus. “I never did like that kid.”
“They want to see you,” Petris said. Though out of breath, he had a glow of excitement about him.
“Who does?” his former self asked, clearly irritated that his conversation with the comely young lass was being disturbed.
Petris eyed the girl pointedly. With a sigh, Markus lifted her off his lap. “Come back in a few minutes, my love,” he told her, flashing a bright smile.
The girl leaned down and kissed his cheek before sauntering off into the crowd.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Petris spoke the moment she was gone. “The Hareesh have a job for us.”
Markus was unimpressed. “So what? I'm sick of their jobs. They never pay worth a damn. Tell them if they need a debt collecting they can get someone else to do it.”
“You don’t understand. This time it’s different. They say if we do this one, they’ll make us members. You hear that? Me and you members of the dreaded Hareesh.”
Now his attention was hooked. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” he replied. “I heard it from Lex himself. Well…not Lex. But Thrace gave me his word. And everybody knows he’ll be leading the Hareesh soon enough. Lex is too old to keep going much longer.”
Markus rubbed his chin. “How much does it pay?”
“Pay? What the hell does it matter? We do this and we’re in.”
“What’s the job?”
Petris looked around the room and then pulled a scrap of folded parchment from his pocket. “The details are here.”
“You wrote them down?” Markus groaned. “Fool! You never put things like that in writing.” Before Petris could say another word, he snatched the parchment from his hand and opened it. As he read, his face visibly tightened.
“You’ll do it, right?” his companion pressed.
Markus began ripping the instructions up into tiny pieces. “I need to think about it.”
“What’s there to think about? This is our way in. It's too good a chance to miss.”
“I don’t know. Why would they send us? They already have people for this kind of thing, don’t they?”
“Who cares why? This is our chance to be somebody. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of eating garbage and living on a dirt floor.”
Markus stared into his mug for a short time. He then gave a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Petris beamed with excitement. “Excellent. I’ll meet you back here tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Thrace said it has to be tonight.”
After another brief hesitation, Markus nodded his agreement.
The young woman was back with him the instant Petris departed. But it was plain he was in no mood for pleasurable company any longer.
“Too bad,” said Specter. “I bet she would have been fun.”
Markus watched his younger self for a while longer before exiting the tavern. He knew what was coming, and the prospect of facing it was more than he could bear.
As he passed through the door, he found himself suddenly transported to one of the city's residential districts. Though not as pleasing to the eye as some of the wealthiest areas, it was clean and well lit - a suburb mostly inhabited by merchants and skilled craftsmen. It was well after midnight and the streets were empty.
Markus spotted his younger self crouched behind a shrub a few yards away together with Petris. They were staring at the lit window of a modest, two story dwelling.
“You were such an amateur,” remarked Specter. “Look at you. You’re terrified. And that miserable twit Petris is no better.”
“Of course I was terrified,” Markus retorted. “I'd never done anything like this before.”
Specter laughed. “Never have truer words been spoken. I assume you know what’s about to happen.”
Markus nodded. He most certainly did. This was the night that changed him forever. “I’m not going to watch,” he stated.
“Unless I miss my guess, I doubt you’ll have a choice in the matter.” Specter chuckled. “I for one can’t wait. This was a very special day for me.”
The light in the window went out, prompting Petris to immediately creep forward.
“Wait!” hissed Markus. “Give him a chance to fall asleep.”
His words were ignored. Grumbling, he followed Petris, all the time keeping as low as possible. After rounding the corner of the house, the pair vanished from sight.
Specter strolled casually up to the front door and pushed it open. “Come on then,” he said. “Let's take a look inside.”
Even though Markus had no intention whatsoever of doing as suggested, he found himself walking forward anyway. He tried to stop himself, but his legs refused to obey his commands. Panic gripped him like an ice cold vice. He desperately wanted to escape. He could not bear to witness what he knew was about to happen.
Specter waited just beyond the threshold, allowing Markus to pass through first. Inside was a typical dwelling for a man of modest means. Well decorated - due in all likelihood to the good taste of the home owner’s wife – and sturdily built. In the small foyer there were two doors: one leading straight on through to a kitchen, and the other on the right into a comfortable living room from where the smell of a waning fire issued forth. It was common practice for people to allow the coals to smolder all through the night in order to keep their house warm, especially for those workers with an early morning start to their day.
Off to the left was a staircase leading up to the bedrooms. Markus could hear the rustle of someone, presumably the man who had just doused the lamps in the living room, making ready to retire for the night.
A creaking of floorboards caught his attention. Petris and his younger self were tip-toeing through from the kitchen at the rear, daggers drawn.
“You sure made a hell of a racket back then,” remarked Specter. “Like I said, a total bloody amateur. But you got good later on. Oh, yes. You got damn good.”
“Thrace said that everyone has to go,” whispered Petris. “So I’ll do the wife. You take the husband.”
Markus frowned. “Okay. Let’s just get it over with.”
They had almost made it to the bottom of the stairs when the soun
d of footsteps could be heard coming from the upstairs hall. The two assassins quickly withdrew into the living room.
“Lazy bones,” said a distinctly female voice. “I’ll get you some bloody water. But you’ll be up running to pee later and you know it.”
“Just get me a drink, woman,” the man responded in good humor. “My back is killing me and I can still taste sawdust in my mouth.”
“You’re just a big baby,” she told him, laughing.
The flickering light from the candle she held illuminated her smile as she reached the foot of the stairs. Petris waited until she had rounded the corner and was almost in the kitchen before striking. In a burst of speed, he spanned the short distance between them and plunged his dagger deep into her back. The woman screamed in shock and pain, dropping the candle and thrashing about wildly. Petris frantically tried to cover her mouth but was unable to get a firm hold. Eventually, he settled for stabbing her again, this time in the side of the neck. Blood from the severed artery instantly gushed out.
“Yolinda!” called the voice from upstairs. This was followed by the rattle of a weapon being unsheathed.
The woman had ceased all struggling and was already close to death by the time the rapid stomping of descending feet sounded. The younger Markus glared over at Petris, then hurried across to the side of the staircase. He made it into the cover of a shallow alcove just as a tall man wearing a nightshirt and wielding a short blade spun away from the bottom step.
“Yolin –” he started to cry out as he caught sight of his dying wife and her blood spattered killer just inside the kitchen door.
He never got to complete her name. Markus stepped into his path. In one viciously fast movement, he thrust his dagger cleanly into the man’s heart. His victim's eyes shot wide and the sword fell from his grasp.
“An accurate strike for a beginner,” remarked Specter approvingly. “Much better than that idiot Petris.”
In contrast to the woman's death, the man's was almost instantaneous. He crumpled to the floor, his eyes still fixed on his beloved wife.
After pulling his dagger free, Markus wiped the blade clean on the man's shirt. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he hissed.
Petris looked at the stairs. “Not yet. Thrace said everyone has to die.”
“Who else is there?”
“Momma? Papa?” The tiny voice of a young child called down from the darkness.
“You can't be serious,” Markus hissed, revulsion all over his face.
“We have to,” Petris insisted. “If we don’t, Thrace will have us both killed.”
“Then you do it.”
Petris faltered. “I…I can’t. That’s why I brought you along. I told them you could do this. Please. They'll torture us to death if you don’t. I’ll make it up to you, I swear I will.”
Time slowed as Markus watched his younger image force himself up the stairs. Suddenly, he felt sick. “I can’t watch this,” he murmured.
“You’ve already seen it,” Specter replied, grinning fiendishly. “This is the day I was born. This is the day you became strong.”
Though Markus squeezed his eyes tightly shut, the awful images refused to be dismissed. Every last damning detail was still horribly clear in his mind: the terror filled expression of the sobbing boy begging to be spared; his tiny hands thrown up uselessly in front of his face to defend himself when he realized that his begging was to no avail; and finally, the quiet little scream he made just as the steel ended his innocent life.
Just like his little victim had sobbed then, tears now streamed down Markus’ face. “No! Please. I can’t see this anymore.”
But the vision was relentless. It replayed those most terrible of moments again and again until, driven almost insane by the incessant torture, he collapsed to his knees and began clawing at his face and eyes.
“You can’t escape this, Markus,” Specter laughed. “This is who you are.”
A jolting sensation caused Markus to look up. The house was gone. He was now kneeling in an open field of grass and surrounded by dozens of men, women, and children. They all stared at him with accusing eyes. These were his victims. Each and every one of them. The little boy from the house was at the forefront.
“See for yourself what you have done,” Specter continued. “What did any of these do that was so bad to deserve death?”
Markus tried to tear his eyes away from the mass of hostile faces, but was unable to avert his gaze. “I had no choice,” he pleaded. “I only did what was needed to survive.”
“You can lie to anyone, Markus. Anyone but me.”
A pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders from behind. “Don’t you want this pain to end? Don’t you want to forget?”
“Yes, I do,” he admitted in a whisper.
“Then end it.”
A long, silver handled dagger appeared at his knees. Markus could feel Specter’s breath on his neck as his grip tightened.
“End it now. You are not strong enough. You never were. But I am. That’s why I was born…why you made me. To do what you could not. And to live with the guilt that now drives you to madness.”
With trembling fingers, Markus reached down and picked up the blade.
“That’s it,” Specter continued. “There is no more need to torture yourself. Let me carry this burden.” He released his hold and moved around to kneel in front of Markus. “It will be all right. Let it finally be over.”
With a still shaking hand, Markus raised the dagger and placed the tip over his heart. He met Specter’s eyes. Pure strength and conviction stared back at him. The death of these innocents had no more effect on his other half than a gentle breeze did against a rocky mountainside.
“Yes,” agreed Markus. “Let it be over.”
He looked to the dozens of dead who were still surrounding him. “I give to you the only justice I can,” he shouted in a clear powerful voice. The tears had ceased, his hand was now steady, and his face was expressionless.
“Goodbye, Specter.”
In a single fluid motion, Markus reversed the dagger, thrusting it hard and deep directly into Specter’s heart.
For an instant there was a look of utter astonishment on his dark half's heavily scarred face. Specter's arms then jerked out to clutch at Markus’s shoulders, though it was nothing more than a fleeting contact. With blood already trickling from the corner of his mouth, Specter's hands slipped to the ground. As his life ebbed away, so the vision around Markus began to fade. After only a few seconds he found himself back beneath the arch, still crouching on his hands and knees.
“Are you all right?”
It took a moment for Markus to realize who was speaking. After pushing himself up, he looked behind him. Estella was standing there, her hands clasped tightly at her waist and a concerned expression on her face.
“Yes,” he replied. “In fact, I’m better than I have been in many years.”
Specter was dead. And though he knew he could never undo the evil things he had done, the darkness that had dominated his spirit for so long was finally laid to rest. The voice in his head would be silent as well. In the future, all the strength he needed to do what must be done would come from himself alone.
“Are you whole again?” she asked.
Markus smiled. “In a way. Though I would prefer to say mended.”
“Then I welcome you to the Urazi. And I recognize you as my equal.”
He bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Estella. But I think I have quite a lot to learn before I become your equal.”
“Then let us not waste any time,” she told him. “The world is at war and we have much to do.”
Chapter Eighteen
King Halvar went over the battle plan in his head yet again. This was at least the fifth time he had done so in the past hour, and by now he was becoming more than a touch irritated with himself for his constant anxiety. There was no logical reason for it. Much of the tension niggling away at him had already been lessened earlie
r that morning when he'd received word from King Ganix in Elyfoss. King Yularian's personal messenger had arrived there to assure them that all was prepared for Ralmaria's part in the battle. This news came as a big relief.
Also on the bright side, the new human fighters joining them had come in far more useful than he'd at first anticipated. Their knowledge of the terrain and lesser known trails exceeded even that of the elves, which made perfect sense when he thought about it. After all, this was their home ground. Their numbers had now been dispersed throughout the ranks where extra swords were needed – primarily on the left and right flanks. They had proved a bit difficult to manage at first, being that none of them had any experience fighting within an organized army. Not that the elves and dwarves were much better. Any experience they could lay claim to was strictly limited to recent events.
Nonetheless, the army stretched out before him was impressive. At least seventy-five thousand strong and all eager to fight. It was little wonder that they had spent the past four weeks chasing the Imperial forces to the edge of the Traxis border. But Halvar was not about to be taken in by another ruse. He made every move with the assumption that the enemy was simply waiting for an advantage before turning to fight.
They would certainly be well stocked with dwarf weapons. What's more, their ranks had now swelled in number to match his own forces. Their unwillingness to engage was no more than a tactic, he was sure of it. And even if he turned out to be wrong this time, after the last blunder with the dragon, it was still wise to be suspicious of everything they did.
Keira appeared from between a row of wagons following the main bulk of the fighters. It still bothered her that she would not be allowed in the thick of the fight, but at least she no longer complained incessantly about it. The spring in her step and the light in her eyes told him that something was afoot.
“One of my scouts has returned,” she told him. “They are turning to fight.”
Dragonvein Book Four Page 24
