<< Prologue | Chapter 2 >>
The last night alive
City of Lionswatch - early fall, year 1203 after Mithras
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The “Dangling Watchman” was a dirty, greasy tavern, not a place for any nobleman or even burgher to be for any reason. It was situated at the heart of the old harbor, one of the oldest and most rotten, derelict districts of the city, half sunk into the soft, wet ground and still sinking with every passing year, but the owners had adapted. A muddy stairwell now led down to what had been the front entrance in richer times and was now a glorified, dirty cellar, and a crooked new door had been jammed into the wall of the late first story, sitting now nearly on ground level.
Every building in the old harbor was slowly sinking into a dark, soggy grave. It was the main reason why the elders of Lionswatch had built the new harbor on rocky terrain only a stone’s throw away before abandoning the old one altogether. The poor folk didn’t care though, and in return the city didn’t care that only beggars, criminals and vagrants clung with fierce determination to the shoddy huts left there.
I was not a handsome man, quite the opposite to be honest, but I fit right in. Sitting at the bar between a lice infested, drunken fisherman and a burly, hirsute, but otherwise nondescript man my intense facial scarring was not as shocking to the beholder, and the dimness of the stinking parlor did its part to camouflage me further. Admittedly, once or twice I had caught the beer wench staring at the left side of my face with contained shock, but the novelty quickly wore out. I knew I wasn’t easy on the eyes, at least not anymore, not with a scar that seemed to split the side of my face in two. I had been once, but dwelling on things long past didn’t feed or clothe me. Nor did flirting with the beer wench, or sitting here, breathing in the stink of about two dozen unwashed bodies, and doing nothing.
Taking a sip of ale I cautiously looked behind me at the tables scattered to every nook and cranny available. The patrons were mostly drunk and dirty, with only a few far and between looking cleaner and better off, but not by much. The small number of locals with actual money also had their fair share of bodyguards to keep their coins where they belonged, and I wasn’t about to risk a beating tonight.
Then I spotted something curious through the steamy haze. There was a small table at the back of the room, big enough to seat three people, but with only one patron enjoying what looked like a bowl of stew. Around him was a good four feet of unused space, giving him privacy nobody else had. The rest of the tavern was packed with patrons and there was no obvious reason for them to leave that one man that wide a leeway.
Intrigued, I put down my mug and turned just enough to get a better view.
Even sitting down that man looked tall, easily taller than me, but it was more than that. That man had his feet stretched out leisurely, but it was probably the only way he could sit without bumping the table. Not that I was that great with visual height measurement, I just got the instant impression that this man would dwarf everyone else in the tavern if he decided to stand up. Adding to that freakishly tall body were his bald head, the pale, pale skin, and the way the cloth of his tailored black throw stretched across his shoulders. Tall, muscular, totally hairless, and probably the richest person in the room, and yet… Nobody dared to get closer to him.
I turned back to the counter, grabbed my mug and waved the beer wench closer.
“Another one, good sir?” she asked with a good-natured smile. Obviously she had gotten over the horrific sight of my scar and discovered the handsome face beneath it.
The sound of my voice still made her flinch though. “I would like to purchase your best wine, two glasses - Glass, not clay mugs! - for me and that gentleman over there,” I rasped, my voice sounding like water flowing over gravel. It wasn’t the worst voice that wench had ever heard, I was sure of that since the moment the fisherman next to me had wheezed his order, but I understood her reaction. I didn’t sound hoarse, but alien. No human was supposed to sound like that.
“Very well, if you wait but a moment, I will have our best red ready,” she hastily added when I started to slide off the bar stool. Her next glance went to the corner I intended to visit, and a look of silent fear passed over her face before she went for the wine.
I hadn’t intended to walk over without drinks at the ready, but her reaction still intrigued me. The stranger obviously hadn’t done any harm to the beer wench, he wouldn’t have been allowed to stay if that had been the case, but somehow he kept everyone at their toes without lifting a finger. I envied him.
When the maid put the glasses on the counter I took a moment to myself and fumbled through my pockets. My fingers found the paper wrapped clump of poison easy enough, but adding it to the wine without anyone noticing was another story, and took another good long ten minutes. The yellow powder dissolved easily, and after a scrutinizing glance at the bottom of the wine glass I started walking.
I reached the invisible border around the stranger soon enough, but hesitated for a moment as my eyes swept over the figure. Definitely tall, definitely muscled like some kind of gladiator, but no weapon in sight. Now that I stood up close I could see another detail that surprised me; every inch of the stranger’s head, face, neck, even his hands were covered in scars. His pale skin hid it quite well, but there were so many of them it was impossible not to see them from such a short distance. Maybe he actually was a released gladiator?
With a sigh and a roll of my shoulders I stepped over the invisible border. A strange tingling sensation rolled over my chest and back now that I went where nobody else dared to go, but I didn’t let it show.
“May I sit with you? I brought some wine for you as a bargain,” I rasped, stepping to the table and setting the spiked wine down next to the bowl of stew.
The stranger stirred, looked at the glass and then up my arm with a slow determination that brought back the tingling on my back. It felt like ages until our eyes finally met, and when they did I felt pierced by the intensity in those emerald green irises. They were so beautiful and out of place in that marred face, it took my breath away for a moment.
The blank, forceful stare continued for a few moments, then the pale face changed ever so slightly to a look of interest.
“Sit down,” the stranger said with a calm and altogether most pleasant voice, and turned his attention back to his stew.
Encouraged, I sat. Sipping my own wine I threw a cautious look at the surrounding patrons, but not a single one of them so much as looked in our direction. Weird, but at the same time very accommodating to my plans.
“I have not seen you here before, stranger,” I then said, turning my gaze back to my new companion, “are you looking for something, or maybe someone?”
The bowl now sat empty between the stranger’s hands, and he turned his attention back to me. Again those piercing green eyes wandered over me with all the attention a single being could muster, then they snapped to my face. The scar, I guessed, and smiled my crooked smile. Some people thought I smirked intentionally, but in reality the scar just wouldn’t let me pour on the charm like I used to do.
“I have been looking for a specific person. Maybe you know them,” he spoke with that pleasant, well modulated voice. “A woman, heavily armored, probably hiding her face from view. Paranoid, shy.”
I fought not to fidget under the steady scrutiny I was put under, but my gaze never left the stranger’s eyes. I didn’t know anyone matching that description, but I hadn’t planned on accommodating the rich guy anyways. I just needed to make him thirsty.
“Nobody of that description has been around here, at least for the last few days,” I replied and put a lilt of regret into my voice, “but Lionswatch is a big city, and this but a small tavern. Would you be willing to pay a fee if I find her?”
The man reached into his throw, pulled out a small leather satchel and threw it onto the table. The metallic song of coins sounded as it hit the wood, and I instantly had to swallow greedy saliva.
I pointed at the satchel. “May I?” I knew I sounded voracious, but it didn’t stop me from grabbing the leather when I got a nod.
I was careful when I shook a few of the coins out of the bag to inspect their currency. Shillings, shiny round royal coins of silver, and even if the rest inside the bag were copper Halers there was enough money on this table to buy a small hut. I looked up disbelievingly, but the marred face never changed. Either that man was a genius at card games, or he really intended to give away a fortune for some information. Looking back down at the riches I tried to stop my hand from shaking, but couldn’t.
A crystal clear egg-shaped gem rolled out of the satchel and into the coins like an afterthought brought on by the tremors.
I had never seen a stone just like that one before. “What’s this?”
Watching my companion’s face I carefully grabbed the gem. This time there was a slight twitch in the marred features, making him look like I had just done something very interesting. Then the man looked down at the gem in my fingers, and tilted his head slowly to the right. Curious, waiting.
As I looked down I could see a fleck of swirling white inside the gem, like fog building up in a glass vessel. I frowned and leaned closer, trying to catch a glimpse at the center.
“It’s a mountain crystal. I had it imbued for special purposes.”
The answer shook me out of my short trance. Mountain crystals were pretty much worthless around here, even cut and burnished ones, so I put it back into the satchel and collected the coins into it too.
With a grin I decided to keep that worthless little play thing for myself anyhow as soon as I finished.
“Well, I look forward to find your maiden. I’m good at these things, finding people I mean,” I assured, then raised my glass to my soon-to-be-victim. “For now indulge yourself, it’s the best wine you’ll find around here!” And the most deadly, I added silently.
The gesture worked.
The stranger grabbed his glass, gave it a sniff and then… drank it all. To the last drop. I nearly forgot to swallow my own mouthful watching him, and then had to force the wine down against a dirty snicker. Even two or three sips would have been enough to bring mortal danger to that fool, but the whole glass was a death sentence. I grabbed the leather satchel still snickering, and my victim watched me do it with an unperturbed expression on his face.
Then I felt it, the slow burn in my blood vessels. The slight tint to the margins of my vision, the tingling in my finger tips. The cottony feel in my lungs, where the anesthetizing agent numbed my nerves. I began to sweat, then to shiver, and tried to get up. It worked, but I fell down face first before I could take the first step towards freedom.
The floor beneath my face started to lose contrast as I heard the soft ruffle of cloth. A shiny black boot appeared next to my eyes, then a shadow fell over my body. A set of pale hands and powerful arms cradled me, pulled me against a black clothed chest easily, and picked me up like a child.
Then we walked, and I could do nothing but watch as my captor explained away my state with too much wine and promised to take me home, wherever that might be.
The last thing I noticed was a wash of cold, fishy night air against my back, and the smell of lavender and soap from the warm body carrying me.
Then everything went black.
~*~
Waking up was just as eerily unpleasant as my last moment of lucidity. I was lying on stone floor, something I could discern without needing to open my eyes. The air was heavy and warm and smelled slightly unpleasant, but not as unpleasant as any place in the old harbor or even the beggar’s quarter for that matter.
Slowly peeling open my eyes I watched the thick, dirt-wet stone slates beneath my cheek come into focus, then groaned softly. There had to be a light source with a steady flame somewhere above and behind me, but the shadow of a person right next to me stopped me from rolling around. Someone was watching me. Maybe if I kept himself still enough, pretended to be unconscious,-
“Where did you get that scar?”
The smooth, male voice made me twitch involuntarily. Damn that bastard to all hells! So much for pretense.
I rolled to my side with another groan and slowly sat up. My head was hammering the old song of hangover, and if my last experiments with the powdered snake poison were any indication, I wouldn’t be able to flee or even stand up any time soon.
“Listen, I am sorry. Can we just forget this ever happened and go our separate ways?” Maybe that brute was one of the good ones, after all one could always hope.
The answer was a quick, measured, painful kick to my side, sending me back to the ground.
Again that voice asked, “where did you get that scar?” He sounded just as calm and collected as before.
“What’s it to you? Just let me be!” I barked, clutching my side and trying to crawl away at the same time. A bit of distance would keep me out of reach I hoped.
It didn’t help. This time the kick hit my kidney with enough force to have me screaming an squirming on the ground for a good time, and it took another while for me to find back my voice.
“What was that for?!” I screamed hoarsely, and this time the animalistic sound of my voice had nothing to do with the scarring at my throat. My whole body vibrated with aftershocks of intense pain, but I still managed to flinch and roll away when the scarred giant took another step closer. Not that this helped either.
Instead of letting me crawl and roll away like some bug he simply stepped on one of my hands and added enough weight to have me screaming with a mixture of fear and pain. No amount of tugging or squirming or hitting and scratching the leather-covered leg changed anything, and it went on and on for an eternity. Only when I had screamed himself breathless and into exhaustion did my captor ease up enough to have my fingers pound and pulse fiercely and me gasping for air.
“The scar. Where did you get it?” All the violence hadn’t changed anything about the man’s demeanor, but a slight tinge of soft, warm happiness had sneaked into his pleasant voice. Not that he smiled, no, his face was just as forcefully intent and expressionless as before.
It made me shake with confusion and panic, because there was nothing in that brute’s face or voice or movements to orientate on. He was a blank sheet in every sense, impossible to predict. Would he react best to fear, or to cowardice? What would he do if I tried to cajole him into letting me go, how far would he take this torture if I kept avoiding to answer his questions?
And why in the name of all seven hells was I even trying to avoid answering?
“A legionnaire of the sun god Mithras tried to split my head with a war axe,” I croaked, staring intently at the boot still trapping my hand with uncomfortable, but at least less painful, pressure.
“Good boy. Why would he do such a thing to a lowly thief?” The interrogation went on with a certain implicitness, as if the stranger never had expected anything else than an answer. The ‘good boy’ provoked me though, and I snarled as I once more tried to tug my hand out from underneath the boot.
The painful, crushing pressure returned immediately, only this time it seemed to last even longer. It came and went in waves of pain that didn’t just sit in my hand, but rather spread throughout my body and echoed against my backbone like a crawling plague. When I didn’t think I could take it anymore, I even screamed for mercy, but to no avail. And when the weight finally lifted just enough to send another sequence of pains shooting through my nervous system I had to hold on to my consciousness, fearing I would pass out from sheer panic.
It didn’t take much more to convince me after that, I was more than happy to tell him everything. “The legionnaire tried to kill me for stealing his girl, I was his comrade, and he didn’t like that I had charmed away a lady of royalty, so he set me up and felled me with that axe of his and when I tumbled over his cronies pushed me off the bridge and I nearly drowned, and please, please stop crushing my hand!”
Although I probably sounded like a raving mad man the pressure didn’t come back. My hand was still in agony and jammed beneath his boot, but he didn’t put any more pressure on it than necessary. He seemed to have most impressive control over his balance, as he was still standing perfectly motionless even on one foot, never wavering or modulating the force he used on my hand. There was no strain in his voice either when he asked, “a legionnaire of the sun god then, how quaint. What is your name?”
“Blayne. Banagher. Blayne Banagher,” I instantly replied, having learned my lesson by now. I was very fond of my hand, mostly because my left hand was my dominant hand, and a pickpocket with broken fingers was definitely out of his job for good. Somehow I still assumed I would be alive when this creature was finished with me.
I felt him lean forward to take a good, hard look at me, but I was more intent on staring on his boot than his face. I didn’t care what kind of expression he made, as long as my hand wasn’t ground into the floor. “Blayne. What a strange name. Bllllayne,” he drew out my name like a dirty word, letting it roll over his tongue like a piece of fudge he wasn’t sure he liked. For a moment I thought he had lost his train of thought while chewing my name, but then he continued. “Well Blayne,” and he still pronounced it obscenely, “you are dead. And you will stay dead as long as I choose to keep it that way. Dead people don’t need and don’t want, so these are the first two words you are forbidden to use. If you need or want, I will beat you severely. If I decide to come back, you will do what I say, answer my questions and be attentive, or I will leave.”
He didn’t ask if I had understood, and I knew why. He hadn’t made any threats, but simply stated facts he knew to be true. And he didn’t care if I heard or remembered, because it didn’t matter to him. For a moment I felt malice in its undiluted, most basic shape staring down at me, and it took my breath away.
When I didn’t react to his words he finally took his foot from my hand and watched me scurry into the farthest corner of the room. I curled up there with my hurting hand between my stomach and my thighs and watched him wide-eyed until he left. The heavy reinforced wooden door fell closed behind him with a deep thunder, and suddenly I was alone. Mithras, Imaeath and Samara, what had just happened?
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