Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Ralnor
Larn
Dar Eherdir
Dubious alliances
He put the last of his cured flesh cubes in his mouth and worked at it with his molars, listening to the river flowing towards Altarin. Dar neighed annoyed from where he’d left him to graze, an opening amidst the trees. Less than an hour into his journey, the horse had started complaining. He’d a cut on his right hoof, where it was missing a shoe. Neither the cut, done by a sharp blade, nor the missing shoe, was an accident.
Whoever did it, wanted to delay him. Keep him in the city even. Ralnor had tied the horse’s hoof, after cleaning it and turned back to find a blacksmith. He lost a day doing it and spend the night outside the city to avoid unnecessary eyes watching him.
Problem is, eyes have a tendency to wander outside the city as well.
Ralnor got up, swallowed the well-chewed up piece of flesh and walked towards his horse. He took the roundabout way, paused behind a tree trunk, ducked in a bush and walked into a shadow, not two meters from the small bodied person watching Dar and his fake campsite.
A minute passed.
Then another.
His visitor wasn’t moving.
He felt the familiar burning in his arm and turning around touched a leafy bush, glanced once more at the back of the stooped over foe and whispered.
Nhyvar.
The shadows expanded rapidly around him, a large black moving sphere that reached the unsuspecting female and engulfed her. Ralnor felt the bush’s stems rotting with his left hand, small branches wilting, then turning to ash and let them go. Walked behind her, a needle point knife in his other hand. He made to pull her long hair back, kept in a fancy ponytail and punch his blade in her brain through an ear, but recognized the pattern of her braids despite the blackness surrounding them and stopped at the last second.
Nellaon.
“What in…” Mezera gasped surprised, sensing someone standing so close to her the moment the thick shadows retracted and then almost jumped out of her skin, when he felt his blade touching her ear. “STOP!” She cried jumping away, right into the opening where Dar was watching them perturbed.
He found her reaction amateurish.
You never run for cover, where there’s none.
Ralnor looked around them with a sigh, found no other danger and put the knife away.
Mezera had a haunted look on her face, the shock hadn’t gone away yet and her hands were shaking. “By Ora’s black heart,” She murmured. “This dampness is killing me.”
Ralnor cocked his head and stared with cold eyes.
“You hurt my horse.”
Mezera looked up worried.
“Huh? No… I didn’t!”
“Someone did.”
“Not me!”
Ralnor narrowed his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you!”
“Lower your voice.”
She stared at him confused for a moment, before realizing what he meant.
“Apologies.”
“Are worthless,” Ralnor told her getting up. “We have to move.” You can’t hide, while attempting to educate a toddler.
“Yeah,” Mezera replied, following his example. “This place sucks.”
An hour later, Ralnor found himself back in the Golden Bird inn, staring at a bowl of warm vegetable soup, the sound of Mezera slurping her portion grating to his nerves. He pushed himself back on his chair, felt solid wall against his spine and checked the empty inn in silence, the light of the oil lamp Dean Kutas had left on the counter keeping the place and their table in semi-darkness.
“How did ye did that?” Mezera asked, wiping her lips with a towel. “Before.”
This delay was unnecessary, he thought. Still someone had messed with his things. Was it the Gish? Had he wanted him dead, he would’ve tried again. Used a crossbow and a bolt with a poisoned tip.
“I’ve heard talk of… some of us, knowing this trick,” Mezera continued.
“Some of us?” Ralnor asked.
“You know…”
His silence was deafening.
“Well, Dean said—”
“The man running the inn,” Ralnor interrupted.
To the ground.
“Aye.” She nodded. “Not my fault, if he’s wrong.”
“Where’s the missive?” He asked not amused.
She told him an answer had arrived, while he was busy patching up his horse. Mezera searched the opening of her bosom with a hand and pulled out a clearly opened and read message, the small paper damp and torn in a couple of places.
“I thought, you were gone,” Mezera murmured.
She opened her mouth to apologize, seeing him not convinced, but his stare turned into a glare and that stopped her cold.
Ralnor snatched the parchment away, wrinkling his nose. He read it under the scrutiny of the girl. Stopped, took a deep, deep breath and read it again.
I name thee my vengeance. Burn the trail. Leave nothing.
“What does it mean?” Mezera asked, when she realized, he wasn’t going to talk.
Ralnor smacked his lips and checked outside the inn’s window. Two, three at the most, hours of night left. Not enough time. Could he afford to lose another day? She was spooked of course and wanted to lash out, since despite her many talents, Aelrindel was never practical in her schemes. Elaborate plans are always more difficult to materialize and being talented didn’t mean one was smart.
She was alive today, thanks to him.
You don’t shake the hornets’ nest, when you’re on borrowed time.
Not like she did.
Someone is bound to notice.
“Is it a contract?”
Ralnor almost rolled his eyes at the term.
“Do you know the city?” He asked taking her by surprise.
“I thought you’d ask, if I killed anyone before,” Mezera replied. “I almost did once. Enough to earn me an apprenticeship.”
We must work with the tools at hand, Ralnor thought saddened, shaking his head. And expect shoddy work from those left in charge of mundane tasks.
“I take it as a yes,” He said. “Find me a good rope. At least ten meters.”
“What’d ye need that for?”
“You’ll find out,” Ralnor replied, cursing himself for not killing her next to the river and got up.
The manor was dark in the distance for the most part, its tall outer walls blocking anyone from entering the grounds surrounding it, unless he wanted to use the guarded main entrance. There were at least four armed guards standing watch, large torches lighting the exposed place up, at least four that he could see.
He had no idea, when the next change of the guard was, nor the time to find out.
“Are you sure?” He asked her and Mezera stooped next to him on the east side of the entrance nodded.
“Follow me. Bring the rope,” Ralnor ordered and started walking towards the tall stone wall, before she’d time to protest.
Which she did.
“Wait. This darn thing weights a ton!” Ralnor grunted instead of a reply, while examining the rough surface of the four meter sturdy stone wall. There was enough cope for him to stand on, if he made it up there.
“How will you secure it?”
“I’ll climb and drop it on the other side.”
Provided it’s long enough.
“How are ye gonna climb that?”
Painfully.
“Just toss it, when I call you.” Ralnor hissed and took a couple of steps back. Paused looking at the wall, glanced towards the lit entrance and then at the moons on the night sky and sighed. He walked another three meters back, took a deep breath and held it, under the curious eyes of the Guild’s apprentice.
Then he dashed forward running at full speed.
The first couple of meters were normal, but then as he picked up momentum, gravity and mass started working against him. The pressure pushed back as much as he was pushing forward, the faster he went, the harder the Realm tried to hold him back.
It all happened in less than two seconds.
A meter before he met the stone wall head on and probably died after breaking most of his bones, Ralnor realized he wasn’t going to make it. Damn you for this, he cursed.
Ar’iorve.
The ancient command turning to a panicked gasp on his lips, as he leaped like an incect, the spell catapulting him upwards at least three full meters, but still not high enough to get him over the wall. Without a proper medium all spells were lessened. Ralnor had to burn a quarter of his blood to even attempt it.
The sturdy rock wall came at him with a vengeance and he half kicked both his legs out mid-air to avoid cracking his head like an egg, knees scrapping the rough surface the next moment, hands flailing mad in the attempt to grasp the cope and pull himself up, before he run out of momentum.
“Fuck.” Mezera exclaimed, when he collapsed on the foot wide cope, breathing heavy and drenched in sweat, his left hand shaking and burning to the point of madness.
Ralnor coughed up a splat of black blood between his knees and looked down, glowing silver eyes wild.
“Toss me the bloody rope. Hold one end tight,” He spat, barely getting the words out.
After securing it on the other side, using a loose heavy branch he stumbled upon in the dark, Ralnor moved towards the two story manor as fast as he could, without alerting the rare diligent patrol that preferred walking their route, instead of waiting it out, cup in hand.
He ducked behind a fig tree, trunk huge and sticky, rotten fruit making a mess of his boots, before testing one of the first floor barred windows. The first one was locked and it was the same story four windows down the long eastern manor wall, the time slipping through his fingers like water and his left arm still throbbing, the hunger building up inside, in step with his frustration.
Ralnor climbed the last large window, deciding he had enough, stood on its head on his toes and leaped upwards and to the side light as a feather, enough to grab the bottom rail with his hand, his shoulder straining, swung once and clasped at the rails proper with both hands. Pulled himself up and breathed relieved, when he heard the flapping of curtains through the cracked open balcony door.
Inside the manor proper, he moved without pausing, a couple of throwing knives in hand, jumping from shadow to cover, when he heard noise. Soon though he just walked fast and with less care, as other than a cook, up early to start making breakfast, everyone else seemed fast asleep. There was a second hall before the main bedroom and the better rooms on the west side of the manor. There he paused seeing light and hearing people talk.
“…never trusted him,” One of them was saying. “He’s trying to pull the same trick again.”
“Your father wants you in Rida just the same,” The other answered. Much older than the first.
“I should stay. This here is my heirloom, Duncan,” The younger man countered.
Ralnor exhaled slowly. The Reeves’ spawn hadn’t traveled to Hellfort after all, he thought. Dean had lied, the girl too. He thought about the injury to Dar. Not a coincidence. But why keep me here? Something else is afoot.
If there was one thing plaguing the Silent Servants Guild since its inception, it was conspiracies. All guilds, Ralnor supposed, deciding to finish the job, as fast as he could.
Ralnor chanced a look behind his back for any sign of the murderous girl, saw nothing but an empty dark corridor and with a grunt of frustration, he made to enter the well illuminated by a chandelier room. Paused mid-stride, seeing a man wearing a well-polished chainmail shirt, coming through the door to enter the corridor.
Several things happened simultaneously next, in the space of precious few moments.
“Just move to the end of it, it’s a fucking huge cupboard,” The young man called behind Duncan’s back. “You won’t miss it.”
The assassin feverishly glanced to his right and saw nothing but empty wall, then to his left and saw himself reflected on a large mirror, dark leather outfit covered in dirt, mud on his weathered cape, face pale half-hidden by the hood and dark circles under his eyes.
He looked like shit.
The man walked into the corridor, while he pondered all that and came upon him, as the conflicted assassin’s time had run out. Using another spell now wasn’t an option, as he would probably pass out and promptly killed on the spot, before even pronounced a thief, or hanged, after getting thoroughly tortured, before Altarin’s gates alongside the other ruffians, if the weather didn’t allow for further ‘festivities’ that is.
Duncan paused with a gasp, almost tripping on his own feet, eyebrows rising in shock, but recovered quickly and made to unsheathe his sword, only to realize he held an empty bottle of wine in his good hand and opt for a loud curse instead.
Even that he didn’t manage, as he’d two knives buried in his chest and blood in his lungs.
“Gah!” The man said dropping the bottle on the floor and stumbling back, darn thing had to break apart and raise a ruckus of epic proportions!
“You fool! What did you do?” The young man cried angry from the well-lit hall, as a deft Ralnor danced forward shortsword in hand and followed Duncan as he retreated back inside the room, the sudden light blinding to the assassin’s eyes.
A mistake forced upon him due to luck of time.
“Duncan what the fuck man?” The young man said, sounding doubly worried now. Duncan was dying where he stood, blood leaking out of the sides of his mouth and down his chin, but he was too damn slow doing it, so Ralnor, stepped to the side and stabbed him once more, right below the bump at his throat.
“What? Hells are you, fiend!” The wiry, but well-armoured man, cried out, when Duncan went down with a loud bang that shook the whole floor. That’s fucking plate, the assassin noticed with a grimace, reaching for his one-handed battle axe.
“Are you Lord Reeve’s grandson?” He asked evenly, walking towards him.
“What? I’m Sir Laurel Reeves!” The young knight snapped. Then barked as loud as he could, unsheathing his longsword rather confidently. “GUARDS!”
The assassin ducked under the sword and stabbed him in the ribs once, his shortsword’s blade scrapping the plate. He had to step away to avoid a spiked sword butt to the face, retaliated with a solid downward cut above Laurel’s elbow, found arm plate underneath his sleeve as well and cursed, then laughed when he heard bone breaking.
“Arggh! Stand back!” Laurel cried out, trying to get away, sword arm dangling useless, and with Larnol circling him like a hungry wolf.
“Where is the grandson?”
“The… he’s not here! For Uher’s sake, I’m not him!”
Someone called from downstairs, probably a servant waking up.
“Defend yourself,” Ralnor said feinting another attack with his axe and Laurel tried to raise his injured arm still holding the sword and shield himself against an attack that never came, as the deft assassin covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye and punched his shortsword in his face savagely, just below the nose. It went in to the hilt, blood pouring out to cover the grotesque wound and he had to step away to avoid getting covered in it.
He breathed once to calm himself down and watched Sir Laurel die right next to his friend, all the while listening to the sounds of the manor waking up. Ralnor could see the door of the main bedroom, at the other end of what was, for all intends and purposes, the large manor’s second floor dining hall.
Everything, Aelrindel had said in her righteous fury, always hasty to react; a lover’s betrayal and her broken heart still unhealed, eons later.
I name thee my vengeance.
Dar Eherdir.
Ralnor sighed and stooped to retrieve his blade. He had to step on the dead knight’s body to do it and it wasn’t easy dislodging it from the horrific wound. Then with the sound of people sounding the alarm coming from downstairs, walked without hurrying towards the still closed main bedroom door.
Half an hour later, the sky a murky red and darkness retreating fast all around him, an exhausted Ralnor reached the part of the outer wall, where he’d left the rope and climbed up, Mezera guffawing when he appeared on top of the rounded cope.
“Hah! Thought they got your arse!”
“Move away, so I can jump down,” Ralnor hissed, too tired and in no mood for small talk.
“The guards run inside, quite worried. What the fuck happened? Hey! Wait…”
Ralnor moved past her without answering, kept walking, avoiding the main road leading to the city proper, opting to use a number of short alleys instead, in a roundabout way; until he reached the Golden Bird, just as the sun came up and engulfed Altarin in its warm embrace. Mezera always hot on his trail all this time, saw him heading for the stables and groaned.
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
Ralnor paused and examined her cute and slightly round face. Lots of Lorian mixed in, with her Cofol heritage, he thought. He looked at his boots next, saw blood on them and frowned.
“The city will be closed shut in an hour. Two at the most. People will be understandably upset. A great misfortune had befallen their city,” He explained, searching for a good spot to clear it, without raising suspicion. “If you plan on staying, go to sleep.”
“And if I don’t?” Mezera asked, eyes gleaming on the prospect of a life filled with adventure.
Late night, or morning… massacres.
“Find a horse.”
Dubious alliances.
“Hah! Right away, boss!”
Decisions leading to great calamities… to put it mildly.
“Hey, what did you need the rope for? You made it up there without it,” Mezera asked less than hour later, after they’d cleared the city gates without any problems.
“There was no purchase on that wall. Or any lever of sorts. Not for a grappling hook,” Ralnor grunted, not fond of talking while on the road.
“And we left the rope back there because…”
Ralnor glanced at the sky above their heads, the sun blinding. He repositioned the hood of his cape to protect his eyes and decided that perhaps, it wasn’t too late for her to learn.
“When they find it,” He started, patting Dar’s mane and the horse responded with a snort. “They’ll assume it is how I got inside.”
Mezera nodded and for a couple of minutes a blissful as much as coveted silence accompanied them. It wasn’t to last unfortunately.
“When you said they,” The girl said, sounding troubled. “I have a feeling, ye don’t mean the city guards.”
“There’s hope for you still, Mezera.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“First lesson,” Ralnor started, glancing her way.
“I’m all ears,” She replied, her tone upbeat.
“Excellent,” Dar Eherdir said, his tone deathly serious. “Don’t say another word, until we reach Hellfort. Show me, you’re worthy of my time.”
Mezera blinked taken aback, but auspiciously for her, kept that cute mouth shut and Ralnor sheathed the small blade he’d gotten out unseen, with a half-relieved half-disappointed sigh. While the assassin saw some potential in her and was still missing a pupil, he also realized that some pretty good cuts of meat, had unfortunately just gone off the menu.
Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
Ralnor
Larn
Dar Eherdir
Dubious alliances
He put the last of his cured flesh cubes in his mouth and worked at it with his molars, listening to the river flowing towards Altarin. Dar neighed annoyed from where he’d left him to graze, an opening amidst the trees. Less than an hour into his journey, the horse had started complaining. He’d a cut on his right hoof, where it was missing a shoe. Neither the cut, done by a sharp blade, nor the missing shoe, was an accident.
Whoever did it, wanted to delay him. Keep him in the city even. Ralnor had tied the horse’s hoof, after cleaning it and turned back to find a blacksmith. He lost a day doing it and spend the night outside the city to avoid unnecessary eyes watching him.
Problem is, eyes have a tendency to wander outside the city as well.
Ralnor got up, swallowed the well-chewed up piece of flesh and walked towards his horse. He took the roundabout way, paused behind a tree trunk, ducked in a bush and walked into a shadow, not two meters from the small bodied person watching Dar and his fake campsite.
A minute passed.
Then another.
His visitor wasn’t moving.
He felt the familiar burning in his arm and turning around touched a leafy bush, glanced once more at the back of the stooped over foe and whispered.
Nhyvar.
The shadows expanded rapidly around him, a large black moving sphere that reached the unsuspecting female and engulfed her. Ralnor felt the bush’s stems rotting with his left hand, small branches wilting, then turning to ash and let them go. Walked behind her, a needle point knife in his other hand. He made to pull her long hair back, kept in a fancy ponytail and punch his blade in her brain through an ear, but recognized the pattern of her braids despite the blackness surrounding them and stopped at the last second.
Nellaon.
“What in…” Mezera gasped surprised, sensing someone standing so close to her the moment the thick shadows retracted and then almost jumped out of her skin, when he felt his blade touching her ear. “STOP!” She cried jumping away, right into the opening where Dar was watching them perturbed.
He found her reaction amateurish.
You never run for cover, where there’s none.
Ralnor looked around them with a sigh, found no other danger and put the knife away.
Mezera had a haunted look on her face, the shock hadn’t gone away yet and her hands were shaking. “By Ora’s black heart,” She murmured. “This dampness is killing me.”
Ralnor cocked his head and stared with cold eyes.
“You hurt my horse.”
Mezera looked up worried.
“Huh? No… I didn’t!”
“Someone did.”
“Not me!”
Ralnor narrowed his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you!”
“Lower your voice.”
She stared at him confused for a moment, before realizing what he meant.
“Apologies.”
“Are worthless,” Ralnor told her getting up. “We have to move.” You can’t hide, while attempting to educate a toddler.
“Yeah,” Mezera replied, following his example. “This place sucks.”
An hour later, Ralnor found himself back in the Golden Bird inn, staring at a bowl of warm vegetable soup, the sound of Mezera slurping her portion grating to his nerves. He pushed himself back on his chair, felt solid wall against his spine and checked the empty inn in silence, the light of the oil lamp Dean Kutas had left on the counter keeping the place and their table in semi-darkness.
“How did ye did that?” Mezera asked, wiping her lips with a towel. “Before.”
This delay was unnecessary, he thought. Still someone had messed with his things. Was it the Gish? Had he wanted him dead, he would’ve tried again. Used a crossbow and a bolt with a poisoned tip.
“I’ve heard talk of… some of us, knowing this trick,” Mezera continued.
“Some of us?” Ralnor asked.
“You know…”
His silence was deafening.
“Well, Dean said—”
“The man running the inn,” Ralnor interrupted.
To the ground.
“Aye.” She nodded. “Not my fault, if he’s wrong.”
“Where’s the missive?” He asked not amused.
She told him an answer had arrived, while he was busy patching up his horse. Mezera searched the opening of her bosom with a hand and pulled out a clearly opened and read message, the small paper damp and torn in a couple of places.
“I thought, you were gone,” Mezera murmured.
She opened her mouth to apologize, seeing him not convinced, but his stare turned into a glare and that stopped her cold.
Ralnor snatched the parchment away, wrinkling his nose. He read it under the scrutiny of the girl. Stopped, took a deep, deep breath and read it again.
I name thee my vengeance. Burn the trail. Leave nothing.
“What does it mean?” Mezera asked, when she realized, he wasn’t going to talk.
Ralnor smacked his lips and checked outside the inn’s window. Two, three at the most, hours of night left. Not enough time. Could he afford to lose another day? She was spooked of course and wanted to lash out, since despite her many talents, Aelrindel was never practical in her schemes. Elaborate plans are always more difficult to materialize and being talented didn’t mean one was smart.
She was alive today, thanks to him.
You don’t shake the hornets’ nest, when you’re on borrowed time.
Not like she did.
Someone is bound to notice.
“Is it a contract?”
Ralnor almost rolled his eyes at the term.
“Do you know the city?” He asked taking her by surprise.
“I thought you’d ask, if I killed anyone before,” Mezera replied. “I almost did once. Enough to earn me an apprenticeship.”
We must work with the tools at hand, Ralnor thought saddened, shaking his head. And expect shoddy work from those left in charge of mundane tasks.
“I take it as a yes,” He said. “Find me a good rope. At least ten meters.”
“What’d ye need that for?”
“You’ll find out,” Ralnor replied, cursing himself for not killing her next to the river and got up.
The manor was dark in the distance for the most part, its tall outer walls blocking anyone from entering the grounds surrounding it, unless he wanted to use the guarded main entrance. There were at least four armed guards standing watch, large torches lighting the exposed place up, at least four that he could see.
He had no idea, when the next change of the guard was, nor the time to find out.
“Are you sure?” He asked her and Mezera stooped next to him on the east side of the entrance nodded.
“Follow me. Bring the rope,” Ralnor ordered and started walking towards the tall stone wall, before she’d time to protest.
Which she did.
“Wait. This darn thing weights a ton!” Ralnor grunted instead of a reply, while examining the rough surface of the four meter sturdy stone wall. There was enough cope for him to stand on, if he made it up there.
“How will you secure it?”
“I’ll climb and drop it on the other side.”
Provided it’s long enough.
“How are ye gonna climb that?”
Painfully.
“Just toss it, when I call you.” Ralnor hissed and took a couple of steps back. Paused looking at the wall, glanced towards the lit entrance and then at the moons on the night sky and sighed. He walked another three meters back, took a deep breath and held it, under the curious eyes of the Guild’s apprentice.
Then he dashed forward running at full speed.
The first couple of meters were normal, but then as he picked up momentum, gravity and mass started working against him. The pressure pushed back as much as he was pushing forward, the faster he went, the harder the Realm tried to hold him back.
It all happened in less than two seconds.
A meter before he met the stone wall head on and probably died after breaking most of his bones, Ralnor realized he wasn’t going to make it. Damn you for this, he cursed.
Ar’iorve.
The ancient command turning to a panicked gasp on his lips, as he leaped like an incect, the spell catapulting him upwards at least three full meters, but still not high enough to get him over the wall. Without a proper medium all spells were lessened. Ralnor had to burn a quarter of his blood to even attempt it.
The sturdy rock wall came at him with a vengeance and he half kicked both his legs out mid-air to avoid cracking his head like an egg, knees scrapping the rough surface the next moment, hands flailing mad in the attempt to grasp the cope and pull himself up, before he run out of momentum.
“Fuck.” Mezera exclaimed, when he collapsed on the foot wide cope, breathing heavy and drenched in sweat, his left hand shaking and burning to the point of madness.
Ralnor coughed up a splat of black blood between his knees and looked down, glowing silver eyes wild.
“Toss me the bloody rope. Hold one end tight,” He spat, barely getting the words out.
After securing it on the other side, using a loose heavy branch he stumbled upon in the dark, Ralnor moved towards the two story manor as fast as he could, without alerting the rare diligent patrol that preferred walking their route, instead of waiting it out, cup in hand.
He ducked behind a fig tree, trunk huge and sticky, rotten fruit making a mess of his boots, before testing one of the first floor barred windows. The first one was locked and it was the same story four windows down the long eastern manor wall, the time slipping through his fingers like water and his left arm still throbbing, the hunger building up inside, in step with his frustration.
Ralnor climbed the last large window, deciding he had enough, stood on its head on his toes and leaped upwards and to the side light as a feather, enough to grab the bottom rail with his hand, his shoulder straining, swung once and clasped at the rails proper with both hands. Pulled himself up and breathed relieved, when he heard the flapping of curtains through the cracked open balcony door.
Inside the manor proper, he moved without pausing, a couple of throwing knives in hand, jumping from shadow to cover, when he heard noise. Soon though he just walked fast and with less care, as other than a cook, up early to start making breakfast, everyone else seemed fast asleep. There was a second hall before the main bedroom and the better rooms on the west side of the manor. There he paused seeing light and hearing people talk.
“…never trusted him,” One of them was saying. “He’s trying to pull the same trick again.”
“Your father wants you in Rida just the same,” The other answered. Much older than the first.
“I should stay. This here is my heirloom, Duncan,” The younger man countered.
Ralnor exhaled slowly. The Reeves’ spawn hadn’t traveled to Hellfort after all, he thought. Dean had lied, the girl too. He thought about the injury to Dar. Not a coincidence. But why keep me here? Something else is afoot.
If there was one thing plaguing the Silent Servants Guild since its inception, it was conspiracies. All guilds, Ralnor supposed, deciding to finish the job, as fast as he could.
Ralnor chanced a look behind his back for any sign of the murderous girl, saw nothing but an empty dark corridor and with a grunt of frustration, he made to enter the well illuminated by a chandelier room. Paused mid-stride, seeing a man wearing a well-polished chainmail shirt, coming through the door to enter the corridor.
Several things happened simultaneously next, in the space of precious few moments.
“Just move to the end of it, it’s a fucking huge cupboard,” The young man called behind Duncan’s back. “You won’t miss it.”
The assassin feverishly glanced to his right and saw nothing but empty wall, then to his left and saw himself reflected on a large mirror, dark leather outfit covered in dirt, mud on his weathered cape, face pale half-hidden by the hood and dark circles under his eyes.
He looked like shit.
The man walked into the corridor, while he pondered all that and came upon him, as the conflicted assassin’s time had run out. Using another spell now wasn’t an option, as he would probably pass out and promptly killed on the spot, before even pronounced a thief, or hanged, after getting thoroughly tortured, before Altarin’s gates alongside the other ruffians, if the weather didn’t allow for further ‘festivities’ that is.
Duncan paused with a gasp, almost tripping on his own feet, eyebrows rising in shock, but recovered quickly and made to unsheathe his sword, only to realize he held an empty bottle of wine in his good hand and opt for a loud curse instead.
Even that he didn’t manage, as he’d two knives buried in his chest and blood in his lungs.
“Gah!” The man said dropping the bottle on the floor and stumbling back, darn thing had to break apart and raise a ruckus of epic proportions!
“You fool! What did you do?” The young man cried angry from the well-lit hall, as a deft Ralnor danced forward shortsword in hand and followed Duncan as he retreated back inside the room, the sudden light blinding to the assassin’s eyes.
A mistake forced upon him due to luck of time.
“Duncan what the fuck man?” The young man said, sounding doubly worried now. Duncan was dying where he stood, blood leaking out of the sides of his mouth and down his chin, but he was too damn slow doing it, so Ralnor, stepped to the side and stabbed him once more, right below the bump at his throat.
“What? Hells are you, fiend!” The wiry, but well-armoured man, cried out, when Duncan went down with a loud bang that shook the whole floor. That’s fucking plate, the assassin noticed with a grimace, reaching for his one-handed battle axe.
“Are you Lord Reeve’s grandson?” He asked evenly, walking towards him.
“What? I’m Sir Laurel Reeves!” The young knight snapped. Then barked as loud as he could, unsheathing his longsword rather confidently. “GUARDS!”
The assassin ducked under the sword and stabbed him in the ribs once, his shortsword’s blade scrapping the plate. He had to step away to avoid a spiked sword butt to the face, retaliated with a solid downward cut above Laurel’s elbow, found arm plate underneath his sleeve as well and cursed, then laughed when he heard bone breaking.
“Arggh! Stand back!” Laurel cried out, trying to get away, sword arm dangling useless, and with Larnol circling him like a hungry wolf.
“Where is the grandson?”
“The… he’s not here! For Uher’s sake, I’m not him!”
Someone called from downstairs, probably a servant waking up.
“Defend yourself,” Ralnor said feinting another attack with his axe and Laurel tried to raise his injured arm still holding the sword and shield himself against an attack that never came, as the deft assassin covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye and punched his shortsword in his face savagely, just below the nose. It went in to the hilt, blood pouring out to cover the grotesque wound and he had to step away to avoid getting covered in it.
He breathed once to calm himself down and watched Sir Laurel die right next to his friend, all the while listening to the sounds of the manor waking up. Ralnor could see the door of the main bedroom, at the other end of what was, for all intends and purposes, the large manor’s second floor dining hall.
Everything, Aelrindel had said in her righteous fury, always hasty to react; a lover’s betrayal and her broken heart still unhealed, eons later.
I name thee my vengeance.
Dar Eherdir.
Ralnor sighed and stooped to retrieve his blade. He had to step on the dead knight’s body to do it and it wasn’t easy dislodging it from the horrific wound. Then with the sound of people sounding the alarm coming from downstairs, walked without hurrying towards the still closed main bedroom door.
Half an hour later, the sky a murky red and darkness retreating fast all around him, an exhausted Ralnor reached the part of the outer wall, where he’d left the rope and climbed up, Mezera guffawing when he appeared on top of the rounded cope.
“Hah! Thought they got your arse!”
“Move away, so I can jump down,” Ralnor hissed, too tired and in no mood for small talk.
“The guards run inside, quite worried. What the fuck happened? Hey! Wait…”
Ralnor moved past her without answering, kept walking, avoiding the main road leading to the city proper, opting to use a number of short alleys instead, in a roundabout way; until he reached the Golden Bird, just as the sun came up and engulfed Altarin in its warm embrace. Mezera always hot on his trail all this time, saw him heading for the stables and groaned.
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
Ralnor paused and examined her cute and slightly round face. Lots of Lorian mixed in, with her Cofol heritage, he thought. He looked at his boots next, saw blood on them and frowned.
“The city will be closed shut in an hour. Two at the most. People will be understandably upset. A great misfortune had befallen their city,” He explained, searching for a good spot to clear it, without raising suspicion. “If you plan on staying, go to sleep.”
“And if I don’t?” Mezera asked, eyes gleaming on the prospect of a life filled with adventure.
Late night, or morning… massacres.
“Find a horse.”
Dubious alliances.
“Hah! Right away, boss!”
Decisions leading to great calamities… to put it mildly.
“Hey, what did you need the rope for? You made it up there without it,” Mezera asked less than hour later, after they’d cleared the city gates without any problems.
“There was no purchase on that wall. Or any lever of sorts. Not for a grappling hook,” Ralnor grunted, not fond of talking while on the road.
“And we left the rope back there because…”
Ralnor glanced at the sky above their heads, the sun blinding. He repositioned the hood of his cape to protect his eyes and decided that perhaps, it wasn’t too late for her to learn.
“When they find it,” He started, patting Dar’s mane and the horse responded with a snort. “They’ll assume it is how I got inside.”
Mezera nodded and for a couple of minutes a blissful as much as coveted silence accompanied them. It wasn’t to last unfortunately.
“When you said they,” The girl said, sounding troubled. “I have a feeling, ye don’t mean the city guards.”
“There’s hope for you still, Mezera.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“First lesson,” Ralnor started, glancing her way.
“I’m all ears,” She replied, her tone upbeat.
“Excellent,” Dar Eherdir said, his tone deathly serious. “Don’t say another word, until we reach Hellfort. Show me, you’re worthy of my time.”
Mezera blinked taken aback, but auspiciously for her, kept that cute mouth shut and Ralnor sheathed the small blade he’d gotten out unseen, with a half-relieved half-disappointed sigh. While the assassin saw some potential in her and was still missing a pupil, he also realized that some pretty good cuts of meat, had unfortunately just gone off the menu.
