Stone Pass Keep

 

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Chapter One - Questions without answers

Questions with no Answers

Night was a time when most people would be asleep, of late Jalos found it hard to do so. Lying on his pallet he could hear Marth's steady breathing from the study. By the light of a guttering candle he could see the old man hunched over his work bench, quill still in hand and ink spilled over the parchment he had been working on. Again the old man had fallen asleep at his work, it seemed to have become a habit in recent weeks, and perhaps age was finally catching up with him. Careful not to make too much noise Jalos rose from his pallet, instantly the cold hit him and he hurried to pull on his boots and cloak. Somewhat tall for his age Jalos stood at nearly six feet, he had short brown hair and hazel eyes. Most in Stonepass commented on how strange he looked, different to the expected blond hair blue eyes that were common in Stonepass. Not that brown hair was uncommon, in fact the blond hair blue eyes had long ago stopped being the dominant features since the influx of southerners. It was the Hazel eyes that most commented on, they were the rare part of his features. He often had to explain that he was not born in Stonepass. Marth had told him that he came form Utarvia, a country far to the south, his parents killed in the Utarvian civil war. Marth did not talk much about where he came from, all he knew was that Marth had taken him in as a child and fled here away from the war.

A shiver ran down his back, the cloak did little to ward off the cold, winters were the worst in Stonepass, especially in the cave that he and Marth called home. With a longing look at his warm bed, he contemplated going back to sleep, the thought of lying there for several hours without sleep was enough to change his mind. Instead he picked up a blanket and walked softly into the study where he draped it over Marth's shoulders. It wasn't much, but at least it might stop the old man from getting a chill.

The workbench was littered with scrolls, old tomes and various odds and ends that held some significance to Marth. Jalos never took much notice; his interests were on his lessons not on what Marth kept. The thought of his lessons made him look up at the brown leather bound books resting on the bookshelf. He had mastered most of what was contained in them, all except those that involved the use of the four elements. Any by itself was okay, he could handle that easily enough, but as soon as he combined more than one together, things that weren't suppose to happen, did. He had no problem mastering the other things that a sorcerer was supposed to be able to control. Monitoring a person's dreams was easy, as was walking in the sprit realm. Both were things that Marth had only recently taught him after nine years of training, he said it was because of the danger involved, so far Jalos had not seen any of the this danger Marth mentioned. The books he read spoke of men, and women for that matter, who had been driven mad by the dangers that lurked in the spirit world, other stories spoke of death or a sleep they never woke from.

At the moment he got more danger from working with the elements, a recent lesson in which he was supposed to heat up a cup of water had ended in disaster. Marth had tried to make the lesson easy by having sources of the four elements handy rather than having to conjure them up himself. It was not necessary to have all four present, it was fairly easy to convert one form to another, fire from earth or water from air, he found conversions easy but most of the time you had to maintain them otherwise they reverted back to their original form. Marth had said that he might find it easier to control the situation if he only had to concentrate on one thing. A similar experiment a week earlier had involved using conversions to perform the same task. That experiment had started good, he produced fire from earth with no problems, the hard bit came when he tried to draw the heat from the flames to the cup, which was on the other side of the room. That was when things went out of his control, the components he was working with were somehow incompatible, or at least that's what Marth had said. The end result was that the cup melted and the water was nowhere to be seen, not even as a vapour, Marth said it had fused with what was left of the cup. Jalos should have known that, it was one of the first laws, conservation of matter.

That disaster had been minor compared with what happened in his most recent attempt, all he had to do then was use the heat from the fire pit to boil the cup of water. Again he hit a block in the combination and lost control, however this time the cup didn't melt, it exploded showering the room with boiling steam and molten metal while the fire pit flared up and started burning anything the flames touched. If Marth hadn't been there Jalos might have been badly burned or even killed, a solid wall of air stopped the metal fragments from reaching them while water drawn from the air put out the fire. Jalos hadn't worked with the elements since then, fearing what might happen. Instead he turned his pursuits to something a little less dangerous, he found alchemy less challenging but a lot safer. Perhaps in a month or so he would return to working the elements. Marth told him he should be proud of his exploits, most novices would be overjoyed at Jalos' accomplishments, for them it would be enough to impress most people, even to entertain others at the fair, but to him it wasn't enough. When spring came he planed to go to Altair to continue his studies, one day he would master the greater arts there, perhaps even master his problem. Marth had often mentioned sending him there to learn more, but was yet to do so, come spring he was going, with or without Marth's approval. He felt regret at the idea, but as much as he was disappointed in that he might have to act without his teacher's approval, he would have to go, like all young men he was becoming restless and impatient.

Looking away from the books, he studied the parchment that Marth had been working on. There was little to read, the ink had ruined most of the script, what little he could read however he did recognise. Strangely it was written in Hean, an ancient tongue which most of the books Jalos learnt from were written in, why Marth chose to write in it was beyond him, the people that spoke it were dead and buried centuries ago. Just left of a large ink spot was the word 'Tudarna', which translated as 'sword' in the old tongue. Marth's hand obscured the rest of the sentence but further down the page was a section Jalos could read clearly between the ink spots. '...there is little time left, with Sordarin free it is only a short amount of time before his master breaks the wards to his prison. I know that Sordarin will come after me soon and I am doing all that I can...' The rest of the page was either covered in ink or obscured by Marth's hand, however the small amount was enough to make Jalos think, the sense of wrongness that had kept him awake the last few days began nagging at him again. He had obviously read something he should not have.

Pushing curious thoughts from his mind he moved to leave the study when something glinting in the candlelight caught his eye. Under the clutter on the bench he could see the edges of a silk cloth wrapped around something large, the glinting came from the end of the cloth where two inches of steel protruded. Careful not to disturb Marth, Jalos cleared some of the junk away from the other end of the cloth revealing the pommel of a sword. From the size he guessed that it was a Long Sword, its design unlike any he had seen before, on the hilt was the carving of a dragon with its claws clasped around a thumb sized opal at the tip of the pommel. With the tip of his finger he traced the carving of the dragon, surprisingly the steel was warm to the touch and the features of the dragon were as clearly defined as the day it was forged. He did not have to call upon his powers to know that this weapon was magical, just the feel of it was enough. Reluctantly he replaced the silk cover and the junk that he had removed earlier, he decided that it was best not to pry any further lest he wake Marth. Besides he had no right to look through other people's things without their consent. Still, his brain began to buzz with questions, questions he would never ask for answers to. It was not his right to question.

Picking up the candle he left the study and went to the fireplace where he busied himself in stoking it up and putting an extra log on. The fire did little but break the chill into bearable cold, but still it was better than no fire at all, perhaps it would help keep Marth from catching a cold. Satisfied that it would burn awhile longer he went to the larder and dipped himself a tankard of mead, it was a local brew which had a good flavour. Marth got it in special for the winter, besides tasting good it also helped to warm you up. Returning to the fire he made sure that it was burning well before he left the cave, he shut the stout wooden door behind him as quietly as he could, he had still not gotten around to putting oil on the hinges. The cave was cut into the side of the Lonely Mountain near the base, it had been Jalos' home for as long as he could remember. The outside of the cave was littered with rocks, as could be expected, but there was one rock that stood out against the rest, it was about twenty yards in diameter and was smooth across the top. On top of this rock was Jalos' favourite place to sit when outside the cave, especially on sleepless nights.

Sitting down with his legs out in front of him he settled in and began taking small sips of his mead. He ignored the cold, one of the benefits of his studies was the ability to ignore things that weren't important, it was not as if he was going to freeze to death, as long as it did not snow he would be all right. He could always warm himself up if need be, all he had to do was combine air and fire and he would be as warm as he was in his bed. He preferred not to though, if he could not control it there was no one around help him. Lord only knows what would happen if he lost control while it was directed at himself, he had heard horrible stories about novices burning alive because they lost control of the power. He did not want to become a statistic.

Down to the east he could just make out the torch light on the walls of Stonepass Keep, or Milarae as it's makers, the Dwarves, called it. Father Larken had told Jalos that Milarae translated as 'will not fall' in the Dwarven tongue. He had to admit that the name was fitting, any army could only attack one side at a time since the keep was built into the sides of a canyon, to go around the mountains and come in the other side would take months and the journey would be hazardous. It's supply lines could not be cut off since the attackers would have to occupy both sides of the keep, thus prolonged siege would not work. No, the only way to take it would be sheer weight of numbers, and he could not see any commander being foolish enough to waist good men on senseless slaughter. Perhaps the power could be used to break down the walls, but then he had also been told that Dwarven work was immune to the power. In truth he had never tested this statement, but then again why would he want to, it wasn't as if the Keep was going to be attacked by an army of Sorcerers.

Again that pang of something wrong hit him, almost as if his very thoughts had triggered it off. But that was impossible, the very thought of Sorcery being used for evil intent made his stomach churn, there had not been an evil sorcerer since Lodar was banished into the pit and that was some five hundred years past. Of course there had been the occasional mad sorcerer down through history, but the Assembly of Altair usually took care of them before they could cause any harm. No, whatever his bad feeling was about, it was definitely not mad sorcerers. He was beginning to dislike this feeling, it had been with him for several days now, this feeling that something was wrong at Stonepass, but he had been unable to put his finger on the source of the problem. Sure there were the normal Troll raids, the occasional Gnoll sighting; nothing unusual about that, especially at this time of the year, winter was the time when the wild things were driven from their mountain homes, but things still seemed wrong.

The idea that there was an Evil sorcerer loose was preposterous, not even Lodar himself could return from the pit, and he was the greatest. Perhaps another sorcerer had taken the Dark path? No, that was impossible, the sorcerer’s oath was binding, it would kill before anything truly evil could be done. His thoughts drifted to Sordarin, the person mentioned in Marth's writing, perhaps he was the threat he could sense. But then, was Marth writing about the present, or the past, or he could have just been copying an old scroll. It seemed that the more he thought about it the more unanswered questions he came up with. He began to wonder if the sword mentioned in the writing was the one on the bench, but if that was true then who was Sordarin and why would he be coming after Marth. The questions kept mounting up, and he was yet to see any answers. Perhaps he would get some from Marth when the morning came.

Frowning into his tankard he took another swig, the sweet tasting brew lightly warming his insides.

Is something bothering you Master Jalos? Said a voice inside his head. In surprise he looked around, a shaggy creature about the size of a small horse leapt up several small rocks to the top of the one Jalos was on, it's sharp claws clicking on the stone. The creature sat on its haunches next to Jalos, it closely resembled a Lion though it had no mane, just long hair everywhere. It's glowing eyes darted here and there on alert for the slightest movement, ears twitching from side to side. There was no game to be had here, still, like all natural hunters, it was at the ready to pounce. The Croulcha was a rare animal, especially in the Stone Mountains. It was especially rare to see them in the company of men, for they usually shied away from habitations and kept to the solitude of their mountain homes to the north of the great continent.

Tolgran had been Jalos' friend for as long as he could remember, while other boys in Stonepass had dogs as play friends, Jalos had grown up with the Croulcha as his constant companion. Before studies became his main concern, they had done everything together. Now he had no time to play with his old friend, but the bond they shared still held strong and whenever he had a few spare moments from his studies he would spend them with Tolgran. At times just being with his friend was a comfort, it was kind of like the bond that many had with their pets, but it went further than that. From the beginning Tolgran had been able to talk to him without words, the thoughts of Tolgran came to him as clear as a spoken word. After a period of time he had been able to send his own thoughts to Tolgran, though not with the same ease the Croulcha seemed to have. Marth had told him that Telepathy for the Croulcha was a natural ability, for humans it was hard learnt, few were born with the ability, and fewer still were able to employ it fully. It was little surprise to Jalos that Tolgran could often sense when something was bothering him.

"Nothing that you could help me with Tolgran, just a puzzle that I've been working on." He said out loud, he was not in the mood for sending his thoughts. He reached up a hand and began to scratch Tolgran behind the left ear. "Where have you been the last few days, I'd begun to think you'd run away."

Ahhhhhh. Hunting. Came a crooned reply as the Croulcha began to soak up the attention it was receiving. It yawned and then dropped the rest of the way down into a lying position.

"By the smell of your breath I'd say you've been eating pigs again. You stink!" Said Jalos, the last holding his nose in exaggeration. However he did not stop scratching his friend behind the ear.

You are becoming as good as your teacher at avoiding questions. What puzzle would have you out at this time of night, surely it could wait till morning. There was a time when sleep was all you could think of. Jalos frowned, he knew that his friend would not let him off the hook that easily, it would only be a matter of time before Tolgran wormed his troubles out of him. In frustration Jalos pulled at a burr buried deep in Tolgran's fur, the Croulcha yelped in protest.

"Sorry, perhaps I should have warned you I was about to do that," he apologised. There was a moment of silence while he carefully removed the burr while Tolgran returned to licking his paws clean. In the end he decided that there was no harm in telling his friend what was troubling him. He told the Croulcha what he had discovered in the parchment Marth had been working on and of his recent feelings of coming danger. Tolgran listened with apparent interest even though he never stopped licking what appeared to be dried blood off his paws. By the time he had finished the burr had long been removed and he had curled up next to the Croulcha, arranging fur and cloak around him until he got the warmest combination.

I think that you shouldn't worry yourself about anything that Marth leaves lying about. You know how old he is, whatever you find in his study is more than likely to have come from more than fifty years ago, and there’s dust there to prove that. Also you know how impossible it is for there to be an evil sorcerer loose in the land. There was a pause as if the Croulcha was thinking something over. No, I would put your suspicions down to idle speculations inspired by too much curiosity. As for your feelings of great danger.. Perhaps you are confusing your impatience to be off to the Assembly with other things.

That was the kind of answer Jalos would have expected from Farther Larken, it certainly was not what he thought Tolgran would say. But then perhaps Tolgran was right, he always did read too much into things. Still, he had many questions that only one person could answer, and he would ask them when morning came around.

"Maybe your right, I have been rather anxious to go to Altair. In the morning I'll ask Marth what it’s all about, just to be sure." He finished the last off with a stifled yawn, it was then he realised how sleepy he had become. "So, who's pigs did you steal this time?" He asked the Croulcha, yawning halfway through the question.

Ah.. well you know that fat farmer up near Polsen's Mine. Jalos grunted an affirmative between yawns. Well I was kind of up near his place following the trail of a heard of horses when I noticed that the pig pen had been left open.... The Croulcha's explanation was long and involved, but Jalos heard little of it, he had fallen asleep soon after Tolgran had started. With a sigh Tolgran stopped cleaning his paws and lowered his head, as if to doze himself. Sleep well my friend, tomorrow your life will not be so simple.

It was sometime later that the Croulcha jerked its head up at a slight sound of the cave door creaking open. Marth emerged from the cave, in one hand he carried his white yew staff, a symbol of status, in the other he carried the sword from the workroom. The blade had been wrapped in the silk cloth but the hilt was still exposed and reflected the light emanating from the staff. With a muttered oath the old man shut the heavy door behind him. Marth was wearing a heavy travelling cloak that hung freely from his shoulders and covered his body almost to the knees. Underneath the cloak a woollen jerkin and breaches showed through as the cloak flapped about. The old man left the door and proceeded to walk down the well-worn path that lead from the cave into Stonepass. He went a short distance before he stopped and turned to face the Croulcha.

"Keep an eye on the boy, I may be gone for a long time and I don't want him doing anything rash. I'd hate to have to find another with his talents. I've left a note for him to see Farther Larken for his lessons in the morning. I'll be leaving further instructions with Larken as to what he is to do while I am gone. With any luck he should be safely in Stonepass when things start to heat up around here." With that Marth turned and continued on as if the one-sided conversation never happened. He got only a few steps more before the staff flashed with blue light that enveloped the old man, there was a moment of shimmering like that of an illusion in a desert and then the old man was gone.

Well Jalos, Tolgran though to the sleeping form curled up beside him, It looks like your going to have to wait some time before you'll get those answers your after. Jalos didn't answer, he was too deep in sleep to take any notice.

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Chapter Two - The Planning

Chapter 2

 

The Planning

 

 

Larken woke to the sound of the door to his bedchamber closing, with a start he wondered what would be so important that it could not wait until morning.  He sat up expecting to see one of his pupils with a lantern in hand and an apologetic look for disrupting his sleep.  Instead he saw the imposing figure of Marth with glowing staff in hand.  A shiver ran down his back with the thought of where the light came from.  Unlike most people he was not suspicious of sorcerers, but still felt uncomfortable about the power that they had at their command. 

The room, which Larken had to himself, was fairly Spartan, the only furniture was the bed and a chair that sat by the open fireplace.  An open book sat on the floor by the chair and a brown and white moggie lazed by the smouldering remains of the fire.  Slung over the chair was a brown woollen robe, like the room it was also plain.  Getting up from the bed he put the robe on over his bedclothes and began to stoke up the remains of the fire. 

Although Marth had not said anything about why he was here, Larken knew.  He had known that this night would come and had awaited it with some dread.  There was a time when he had hoped that it would never come about, but then he also knew what the consequences were.  For years he and Marth had been putting plans into motion, plans that he wished were not necessary, but like always, Marth knew their duty and kept him in line.

"How long do we have?"  He asked.  His words broke the silence that had held for several minutes.  The fire was now burning well and he stretched out the palms of his hands to warm them.  The moggie had taken advantage of a stranger and was enjoying the attention Marth was paying it.

"Less than a month." The other answered.

"That does not give us much time, I was hoping that you would be able to give me at least three months warning."  Larken turned to face Marth as he said the last, a look of concern on his face.

"We have had years to prepare for this, if we are not ready now then we will never be.  Besides, I knew several days ago that the wards had broken but I had to be careful not to arouse Jalos' suspicions, the boy knows that something is wrong and now, in an act of carelessness on my behalf, he knows more than he should.   I was going to wait another day until I found out just how much the boy does know.   Be prepared for some hard questions once he finds out that you know all about this."

"I'll keep that in mind.  Does his knowing change our plans?"  Larken asked.

Marth paused while scratching the cat behind the ears, contemplating the question.  "No, I think not.  By the time he realises what's going on he'll be so entangled in it that It'll be too late for him to back out.  We'll proceed as we planed, in the morning the boy will arrive here for his lessons as usual, after the attack on the town you'll deliver him to Altair.  Once there fate will take it's course, of course it's going to need our guiding hands along the way, but once he's on the right path destiny will hold him so tight he won't have many options." 

There was no malice in Marth's voice, only a sense of duty and perhaps guilt at having to manipulate a person that he had been a farther figure to.  With a sigh he stood up from scratching the cat and reached inside his cloak to remove the sword that he had carried from the cave, the silk wrapping still tightly bound around the blade.  "There will however be one change to our plans."  He undid the leather knot that held the blade to his belt and held it out to Larken, hilt first.  "You must keep this until it is time to give it to Trevas," Larken opened his mouth to object but Marth silenced him with a wave of his hand.  "I might not be around when the time comes, you however will be with him all the time.  Besides, you would be the last person that Sordarin would suspect I would entrust this to."

Larken looked at the blade with a mixture of dread and fear in his face, reluctantly he took it from Marth, "As you wish, but I do this under protest.  There are others that could look after this better than I."

"That there may be, but they would be tempted to use its power, you on the other hand are so scared of it that you would hardly touch it.  Just look yourself, carrying it as if it would jump up and bite you.  It's far safer in your hands than in any other, for even I have been tempted to use it, just to feel its power at my fingertips.  I'm surprised the boy did not feel any urge to investigate it further, ever since Kaliman was stain it has been trying to find a new master.  If it had of decided that the boy was what it was looking for all our work over the past years would have been for nothing."

"You mean Jalos actually touched it?"  Larken asked, still holding the weapon as though he was afraid that he would break it.

"That he did, while I slept he came into my study, like a fool I had left it on the bench.  I later overheard him voicing his suspicions to Tolgran, after he went to sleep I probed his mind to find out exactly what he knew.  It appears that luck was on our side, ink and my sleeping body blocked out most of the letter I was writing.  He saw little that would make much sense to him; hopefully we can keep him from finding out more.  However if he should become difficult I want you to give him this."  Marth drew a folded piece of paper sealed with red ink and stamped with the image of a lion from his pocket.  "It explains many things to him, enough to placate his questions, however I feel that I will not be his most popular person after he reads it."  He handed the letter to Larken, who rather awkwardly balanced the sword in one hand to accept it in the other.  "I also want you to give this to Minister Darlan when you arrive in Altair."  He produced another folded parchment from a different pocket, but unlike the other it was not stamped.  Larken assumed that was done to stop him from confusing the two letters.  He made a mental note of which was which and took the offered letter.

"Is that all you have for me?  If it is I'll place these away in the secret place."  Larken asked, a bit annoyed at having to play messenger boy.  Marth looked at the letters longingly, perhaps wondering if he had written the right words or perhaps thinking that he should change some of what they said.  There was a short pause while Larken waited for an answer, when finally it came; Marth acted as if he had only just been asked.

"Yes. . . do that, they could be dangerous in the wrong hands."  There was another pause as if Marth was going to say more on the matter and then decided otherwise.  Instead he turned towards the door,  "I must be going now, I have many things to do before morning comes."  Without a further word the old Sorcerer turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.  Larken watched the door close wondering if he would ever see the old man again.  He knew that what lay ahead would be dangerous for all, but for the short term, Marth would be in the most danger.

Pushing aside thoughts of danger he put his mind to the more pressing task of hiding his charges.  Some time ago Marth had altered the stonework around the fireplace creating a secret compartment that could be opened by tracing a complex pattern on the stonework.  Tracing a figure eight pattern around two stones he opened the compartment.  One moment there was solid rock all around the fireplace, the next the rock to the left of it shimmered and then disappeared.  The inside of the cavity was fairly dark and looked to be not more than twelve inches square but somehow managed to take anything that Larken put into it. 

Reaching inside, he pulled out a small wooden chest that he placed upon the bed.  The chest was old and covered with strange carvings that made little sense at first glance.  On either side of the chest were two bronze handles fixed in the upward position and also covered in the same strange way.  The only discernible carving on the entire chest was that of a dragon’s head across the lid.  It was into the eye of the carving that he inserted a key that he kept on a leather thong around his neck.  He turned the key until he could here the sound of the tumbler falling into place and then removed it, but then rather than opening the lid, as one would expect, he took hold of the handles and pushed them down.  There was a sharp click as the ancient opening mechanism fell into place and a small door opened in the front of the chest.  The lid of the chest was however a trap designed for the event of the chest somehow falling into the wrong hands.  In such a case a gas pallet would release a deadly poison into the air that would kill anyone close enough to breathe it in, at the same time the actual contents would be incinerated beyond recognition.  Larken may be a priest, but he had no qualms about protecting important documents by any means. 

With the special door open he placed the two letters inside and snapped it shut.  There was another sharp click as the handles returned to their original positions and the trap reset itself.  He then locked the chest and placed it back in the secret compartment.  He then placed the sword in the cavity next to the chest.  Once he was sure that it was in the right place he traced a line around a different set of rocks on the other side of the fireplace to close the hole backup again.  With a shimmer the opening was replaced with solid rock.

A sigh passed his lips as he sat on the chair.  Moonchee, the moggie, jumped up onto his lap and made itself comfortable.  Absent-mindedly he began to pat the cat, his mind wasn't really focused on what was around him, he was too busy worrying about things yet to come.  It was a big job that was ahead of him, keeping Jalos and Trevas in line was not going to be easy.  Especially if they found out what revolves around the two of them.  He wished he could remove himself from the whole situation, but then he had know from the start that he would not like the things he would have to do, and still he had gotten involved.  Perhaps if he had known then what he knew now he would have decided differently.  Still, there was no use dwelling on things he could no longer change, the die had been cast and now there was no turning back.

 

 

 

The passageway shifted around Marth after he left Larken's room.  One moment he was striding down a bare stone hallway poorly lit by the occasional torch, the next a brightly lit one with colourful banners and tapestries lining the walls.  Of course it wasn't the walls that changed their appearance, it was Marth who shifted his location.  He was in a hurry this night and was using any means to get around as fast as possible.  To walk the distance that he had just travelled would have taken more than and hour since the Duke's keep was on the other side of Stonepass in relation to the Chapel grounds.  To either side of the hallway were sturdy doors that lead to side chambers or other corridors, he was not interested in these, the room he wanted was at the end of the one he already walked.  He could just make out the two iron bound doors that lead to the duke's bedchamber.  Four guards were outside the door; three of them were sleeping while the other stood guard.  Rather sloppy of them to be sleeping at their posts, but then again it was rare for the duke's chambers to have a guard posted, especially this time of night.  Still the guards would be no problem, they would let him pass and not even know that he was there.  Reaching out with his mind to the one guardsmen that was awake he instilled the compulsion to go to sleep, by the time he reached the door loud snores were coming from all the guardsmen.  The one he had just sent to sleep would wake up soon after he passed through the door, none the wiser that someone had passed him while his eyes closed for a moment.

The door was well oiled and opened silently when he pushed on it, stepping over the sleeping guards he entered the room and silently closed the door.  He then changed the air around the door so that a thin vacuum formed; it was just enough to stop any spoken words from being overheard outside.  The duke's room was rather large, full of things that most men would call gaudy.  Finely carved chairs with delicate embroidery sat at regular intervals around the room.  At one end stood a rather elaborate closet complete with draws and mirror.  The duke's wife kept the room presentable as though they were going to entertain in the room one day, giving it a rather feminine look.  A small bookcase and game of Houses as well as the pipe left above the fireplace were about the only things that looked out of place, they obviously belonged to the duke.

Marth's attention moved to the bed at the head of the room without pause.  He felt guilty about disturbing the duke this way, but then he had little time to waste.  A little voice long ago ignored told him that this was an invasion of privacy, but then he was at war and this was nothing compared to what the Duke's family would face in years to come.  Careful not to make any noise he moved toward the bed, the sleeping form of the duke with his wife in his arms a faint outline under the bed clothes.  Reaching out with his mind again he touched the woman's thoughts, she was deep in a dream of green fields and milking cows, it was not the kind of dream he expected from the duke's wife, but that did not matter, he was not there to peek at her dreams.  With a command to her subconscious he made sure that she would not wake until morning, even if people were yelling and screaming in the very same room.

It was then that he moved a hand out the shake the duke awake, with a start the duke's hand shot out and grabbed his before it had moved half the necessary distance.  Marth froze, the duke's grip was strong for a man of his age, but however strong the grip was he did not expect the duke to be awake.  What a fool he should have checked, maybe Jalos was right, he was getting old.

"Would you kindly release my hand Deric, before I remove it for you."  It was more a request than a demand; Deric and Marth had been friends for a long time.  By the way the duke's face was hidden it was a wonder that he had been able to see the approaching hand.  Marth thought it a good idea to make his voice know before the duke decided to try to put a knife in him, Rangers had an uncanny knack of sensing things around them, and they were also light sleepers.  The duke released his grip and in an instant had rolled out of his bed to stand in front of Marth.  Deric made no attempt to hide the frown of annoyance on his face.

"Would you care to explain the meaning of this intrusion Marth?  Has insanity finally gotten into that old head of yours!"  The duke was clearly annoyed at the intrusion; he rarely showed sarcasm or anger, even at the worst of times.  It was clear to Marth that there was more on Deric's mind than this late intrusion.  Before he left he hoped to find out what troubled him so.

"I needed to talk to you before I left, trouble is brewing in the west and I found it important to warn you."

"Couldn’t it wait until morning?  You didn't have to barge in like this.’  The Duke’s frown deepened as he thought about the men guarding his room.  ‘You didn't hurt my guards did you?’  The frown turned to panic as he noticed the sleeping form of his wife; the disturbance should have woken her.  ‘What have you done to my wife?  If you've hurt any of them you'll regret it wizard."  The questions came so fast that Marth didn't get in a word edgewise, when the duke finally stopped silence followed, Marth not sure which question to answer first.  Marth had just made up his mind as to what to say when the Duke's face darkened.  "You said trouble to the west, what kind of trouble?"

"Your wife is only sleeping and your guards are alright, they were sleeping when I came through.  As to why I came now, it could not wait till morning.  I have many things to do and I could not waste any time waiting.  The trouble to the west is of little concern to me but I think that you would be rather interested.  Someone has united the clans in the mountains to the west and I believe that they will move against this keep within a month."  Marth said it so matter of fact that anyone would have thought that he was talking about a group of jugglers coming to entertain the duke's court.  Deric's expression told that he did not believe what Marth had said.

"You break in here in the middle of the night to tell me that some crazy fool has managed to unite the Motok clans and expect me to believe you.  Living in that stupid cave of your's has finally polluted your brains.  The Motok clans hate each other just as much as they hate us.  To think that they would unite against us is inconceivable; the only reason we have settlements beyond the pass is because the trolls spend more time killing each other to concentrate on hassling us.  And now you tell me that they have banded together and are heading for Stonepass.  Sorry if I don't thank you but it sounds a little far-fetched to me."  Although the duke never raised his voice, Marth could tell his anger was increasing.  He hadn’t expected any better.

"There's more, Sordarin has escaped.  Not more that a week since I felt his evil presence return.  It is my belief that he's behind this gathering to the west and unless I miss my guess he plans to wipe out the House Bashier."  Deric's looked up at the last; somehow what was said disturbed him, that’s if it was possible for him to look disturbed while wearing an angry frown.  The signs only showed through for a moment, but that was enough for Marth to read them.  The pause was fairly long before the duke spoke; it was obvious that he was thinking something through.

"What you say fits in with some reports I received yesterday.  Large troll groups passing within sight of each other and not even battering an eyelid.  I thought nothing of it until now."  There was a pause where the duke put his hand to his head, he was definitely disturbed, and Marth had never seen him like this.  "My brother Dorin died four days ago, killed in his sleep.  News of his death came two days ago, the way my brother ran his duchy I was not surprised that some peasant took retribution.  About the same time there was an attempt upon the kings life, thankfully they were not successful but my Uncle Moris was not as lucky.  News came yesterday that he died in a hunting accident, a crossbow bolt through his heart.  I would be a fool to think that these were just coincidence, which is why the guard is posted outside my door.  Now what you tell me confirms my thought that someone has targeted the House Bashier for death.  I had thought that the House Shenair or Crunauk were pulling the strings here, making a push for the High Thrown, but I never thought that the threat was coming from a long dead wizard."  He almost laughed at the end, the idea that Marth presented him was beyond simple belief.

"Sordarin is far from dead, imprisoned where none should ever escape, the great Kaliman himself set up the trap that houses him and the others of his ilk.  He has lived nigh on five hundred years in the pit, plotting and scheming for the day he would return.  If not for the one he serves perhaps he would never escape, no matter how powerful he is.  You see Sordarin's escape is only a small part of the picture, but for you the most deadly part.  It seems that his revenge will be leveled at the seed of Hudan."  Hudan Bashier was the great sorcerer who had defeated and banished Sordarin, for his service to the crown he was given the house title of Bashier and lands.  The current High King was Hudan Bashier the sixth, the sixth Bashier to take the thrown since the House Bashier successfully took the thrown after the Thorin line died out.  That was about two hundred years ago.  "Anyway I think it best that you don't take any chances, you are as big a target as any other in your family.  It would be best if you don't leave Milarae, the stones of the keep are resistant to sorcerery to some extent," he used the Dwarven word for Stonepass Keep to emphasise its origin.  "But that won't protect you much since I was able to get in here with no problem.  Sordarin won't come against you himself but I can guess that he will send someone to do his dirty work so keep your guards posted and your wits about you.  Are your children being looked after?  If he can't get to you he'll try for them."

"Thanks for the advice, it seams that I have a mad wizard out to kill me and you want me to sit still in this blasted keep.  I'm sorry if I sound hysterical but at the moment I fell like running as fast as I can."

"That's exactly what you shouldn't do.  Here you can prepare for the attacks that he may send against you, on the run you would be in constant fear, not knowing when the next attack would come.  Here you have a chance, out there you have none.  Besides, the reputation of us Sorcerers is overrated, were still mortals and we still die when mortally wounded."  There was a pause, the duke was obviously at odds with what to do, he sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped his head in his hands.  It was not every day that you found out that someone had you on their death list.  He sat there for several moments looking about as despaired as anyone could under the situation.  Marth was afraid that he had told the Duke too much, that he should have kept most of what was going on to himself and leave the rest up to fate.  He quickly pushed that fear away, he had to have strength at the moment, and he was doing what was necessary.  Like it or not, Deric was part of his plans and he could not allow chance the opportunity to remove him.  Marth was about to say more in encouragement for the Duke when Deric finally heaved a sigh and got up from the bed.

"Well if I'm not going to run then I suppose the first thing I should do is remove everyone from the lands to the west and call in my men from beyond the west gate.  Make the best plans that I can in the limited amount of time available.  Sending word to Olrack would be a good move, he's sure to send help and he'd not miss a good scrap with the Motok clans.  Oh, and I would have to send word to the rest of the family, they need to be warned about what we face” Deric began to pace back and forth speaking about things that would need to be done for the coming siege.  His military mind had made him forget about all other things.

Marth chuckled to himself, informing the Duke about the movements of the Motok tribes was like setting the cat among the pigeons.  He felt sure that Jalos would be safe in Stonepass now that the Duke knew what needed to be done.  He doubted if the entire Kings army could take Stone Keep if Deric was running it's defence.

It would not have been surprise to Marth that the Duke did not notice his leaving.  Sure that the Duke would not need his help any more he turned away from Deric and made his way to the door.  He had faded away from sight before he reached the door.

 

 

 

The rapping at the front door persisted to disturb the patrons of the Lazy Dog, those in the common room soon began to grumble, some yelling for the caller to go away, while those in the upstairs rooms called for the proprietor to put an end to the noise.  Only the drunk seemed to be un-effected by the ruckus the late caller was causing, contentedly snoring in the back room where they had been dragged after they had fallen off their seats stone drunk. 

The sound of heavy footsteps came from the stairs as a lone figure descended to the common room.  The man, still in his night shirt, looked to be in his middle years and walked with a bit of a limp in his right leg, an old war injury that had never healed properly.  There was another rap at the door as Holgrath reached the common room floor, the sound was greeted with more protests from the patrons but this time Holgrath added his own to the ruckus.  "Hold your horses, I'm coming."

He was still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he reached the front door.  He pulled the shutter across the door panel and peered out at the late caller causing all the noise.  An old man stood in the inn's front alcove, by his stature and the staff he carried Holgrath immediately judged him to be a sorcerer and screwed up his nose in distaste.  He'd seen enough of their kind during his fighting days to recognise one.  "What's the idea of calling at this ungodly hour, you've waked up half the household with your noise."  He felt like adding more but left it unsaid, he was tired and wanted to get back to sleep as soon as possible, arguing with a sorcerer at this time of night was not going to speed things up any.

"I'm sorry to have caused you any inconvenience good sir, but I have travelled hard and am in need of food and a warm bed.  I will pay you well for your services," the old man held up his purse and jingled it just enough to indicate that there was money inside.  Holgrath considered telling to old man to go away, but then decided it was better to let him in.  It was not wise to refuse service to a sorcerer, he had heard horrible stories about the vengeance of their ilk, granted that most of them were told by priests who would not miss any chance to slander those they referred to as the devil’s hands.   And it wasn't as if he believed everything that the priests said.  Still when you heard the same thing several times over from different sources you began to put credence to the reports.  Being an innkeeper he had heard many such stories. 

"Come round to the back door, I'll let you in through the kitchen, you've caused enough disturbance to these good folk as it is," with that he slid the shutter closed, not waiting for a response.  Turning away from the door he headed across the common room to the kitchen, he was half way there before he noticed his eldest son standing at the foot of the stairs. 

Lynus was not more than fifteen summers old but already looked to be a young man in build and height, it was only his lack of facial growth and the occasional crack in his voice that gave away any indication of his true age.  Holgrath had worked him hard in the inn, giving him little time to lay idle.  When he was not doing chores and the season was lax, then Holgrath was teaching the boy all he knew about how to defend himself, the boy had learned how to handle the staff and bow by the time he was ten.  Holgrath had joined the army when he was fifteen and soon learned how hard it was.  He had decided that it was only right that his boys should learn all he had learned at a young age, that way they would be ready if they ever decided to join like he did.  Besides, he had argued with his wife one time, it was good to learn how to handle a weapon especially when they owned an inn, who knows what kind of rabble might decide to stay one night.  Secretly Holgrath wished his boys would join the army, he would be proud to have sons in somebody's war band.

"Come with me boy, we've got a guest coming in the kitchen door.  I want you to look after him while I get his room ready," he gestured for him to follow.  Lynus just nodded and fell in behind his father.  Once in the kitchen his son began to stoke up the fire in the broad hearth.  The kitchen was a large room, when Holgrath had laid down the plans to build the inn he had stipulated to the builders that the kitchen had to be larger than normal.  He had anticipated that the inn would be in a popular spot and that the size would be needed, his floor planning had paid off, the Lazy Dog was the most popular inn along the West March Road.  During the day the kitchen ran at full pace just to keep up with demand, the cook was grateful for Holgrath's foresight.  The kitchen looked like any other one might find around the realm.  On one side were the four cook fires, one was deep set for loaves of bread and the like while two of the others held basting pins used for spitting pork and other wild game.  The forth cook fire held a large black cauldron which the cook made his famous stews in.  The other side of the kitchen held many cooking implements, along part of the wall was a heavy oak bench, while roughly in the centre of the room was a table and several stools which Holgrath used for staff meetings.  The fire the boy was tending was on the far side next to the back door.  It was not used for cooking except during the busy times, its main purpose was for heating during the cold winter months and the cook fires were not in use.  It threw out a good amount of heat and used less fuel that the other fires whose main purpose was to keep heat in rather than throw it out.

Holgrath went to the back door and slid the three heavy bolts that held it closed across and then opened the door.  The old man was waiting for him just past the stairs that lead up to the door, using his staff to aid him; he climbed the stairs and entered the kitchen.  "Thank you my good man, it's nice to be out of that bitter cold," the old man said, shaking out his damp cloak.  The sorcerer looked around the room and seemed to take in every facet of it in less that a heart's beat.  His eyes finally resting upon the boy and the now crackling fire.  The boy was leaning against the mantelpiece and staring into the flames that flickered around the dry wood.  The old man's eyes only rested upon the boy for an instant but it was enough for Holgrath to notice that the sorcerer paid some interest to his son.  But then why shouldn't he.

"There is not much that we can offer you at this time of night to eat.. ah.. sorry but I never caught you name."  Said Holgrath, one eye on the sorcerer while he closed and bolted the door.

"I believe I never told you my name, but then maybe I did.  I meet so many people I sometimes forget who I know and who I don't.  Still a name you want and a name you shall have, in these parts I go by the name of Marth,” Holgrath shot up an eyebrow in what appeared to be shock or maybe surprise.  He had heard of the crazy old wizard who had his hermitage in the Stonepass Mountains, but never believed he would lay eyes upon him.  He felt a little better though, in all the reports about this crazy old man he had never heard of him hurting anyone, in-fact most of the stories spoke of him helping the sick and those in need.  He now felt more at ease about leaving his son alone with the sorcerer while he prepared the sorcerer’s sleeping room. 

Thinking of his son he looked at Lynus who now gazed at the sorcerer as though a page from a storybook had come to life.  Although he had tried to teach his son all he could about the world he still led a sheltered life here on the west march, so far away from the big cities.  It was with little surprise that he had never actually seen one who delved into the forbidden arts.  Most of the sorcerers lived in their place of knowledge far to the east; those that lived outside Altair were rarely seen or heard, for fear of their lives so the priests said.  Holgrath personally believed that sorcerers were quite capable of looking after themselves and chose to remain anonymous for their own reasons.  Still is was rare to see one, in all the years that the Lazy Dog had been in business only two others had stayed there and his son had been far too young to remember their passing.

"Lynus, why don't you get this wise man some food and drink.  There should be some bread and cheese left in the larder from last night and maybe a leg of mutton.  Though I doubt it, the way those soldiers ate last night I'll be surprised if there is any cooked meet left."  Lynus stared blankly for a moment, staring off into the space where Marth had stood a moment before.  Holgrath began to think that the boy had not heard him at all, he was probably dreaming again, but then slowly the boy shock his head and got to his feet and headed towards the larder, the only other door that opened into the kitchen.  "See if you can find some ale while your there."  Holgrath called after him.

"You have a fine boy there if I may say so, your son if my eyes don't deceive me.  He has your looks."  Marth had moved to the very front of the fireplace, back to the warm hearth.

Holgrath gave Marth a probing look; he didn't like that kind of comment coming from a sorcerer.  The church told crazy stories about children being taken from their families by the 'Devil's servants'.  Taken off to Altair for the bizarre rituals of the city’s masters.  Holgrath didn't heed much in these stories designed to frighten parents into hate for those who practiced magic.  It just worried him that one of their kind would take so much interest into his son.  Maybe there was some truth in those stories.  Maybe this old man had come to steal his son away from him...

He shook the thought off, he was getting silly in his old age.  Too much thinking could be dangerous for ones sense of well being.  Perhaps he was just being a tad bit too suspicious, if he kept going like this he would turn into a worry merchant and grow old long before his time.  The sound of Marth clearing his throat brought him out of his reverie.

"Lynus is a good boy, does as his told."  He said, with not much thought as to what he was saying.  "I hope you will excuse me but I must prepare your room.  I'll come back and fetch you when its ready."  Holgrath inclined his head towards the sorcerer and started to move to the common room door.

"By all means, yes."  He heard Marth say before he left the room, closing the door as quietly as he could.  He made his way across the common room to the steps, most of the patrons sharing the floor had fallen back to sleep, by the sound of a few hushed whispers he knew that some were still awake.  It mattered little to him that there sleep was interrupted, those that slept in the common room paid little for their lodgings.  It was not that he cared for the money, in-fact they stayed there out of the kindness of his heart, it was the fact that many were of the undesirable kind, thugs from the street that he knew would rob you as quick as look at you.  Many could pay for the rooms that he had upstairs but as usual, in an attempt to discourage their kind, he told them that he had no more rooms and that the common room was all that was left.  More often than not they took the common room to no room at all.  That was why he had a guard posted at the end of the upstairs hallway and another one at the head of the stairs.

At the top of the stairs he nodded his head at Gaulin, one of the six retired guards that worked for him.  The middle aged man appeared to be sleeping but Holgrath knew better than that, a well trained veteran that had eyes in the back of his head.  A long slender Pomesian sword hung at a scabbard to his right side, he had lost too many fingers on his right hand to wield a sword properly and had long ago taken to fighting left handed.  The leather jerkin he wore hung loosely while his woollen pants were badly worn in places.  In short Gaulin looked more like a street ruffian than a well trained guardsmen.  Many had found out too late that he was an expert swordsman, a Pomesian sword was not given to just anyone.

Without a word he moved on to the end to the passageway and entered a small room, it was one of his smallest but it would do the wizard for the night.  For once he had told the truth to the undesirables about being full up.  The only reason that this room was available for Marth was because a merchant that had made his booking on his way to Stonepass had not returned the day before.  It often happened that a merchant was a couple of days late, that was why he booked his smallest rooms for them, that way he lost less money if he had to turn another away to honour the booking and then to have the merchant not turn up.

There was not much to do in readying the room, his wife Narlia kept all the rooms well stocked, especially those booked in advance.  Clean linen and two fresh blankets lie folded on the bed and a small pile of stacked wood was next to the small open fireplace.  About the only thing that needed doing besides the making of the bed was to fill the wash basin, he would have to fetch some water before he brought his guest up.  He busied himself making the bed, it would probably be another hour before he got back to bed, perhaps he could work out a way to sleepin in the morning.

 

 

Lynus fumbled with the latch to the cellar door, for some reason he could not control his hands.  It wasn't until he looked hard at them that he noticed that they were shaking, it was then that he realised that he was shaking from head to toe, an uncontrollable shiver that ran down his back and onto every other part of his body.  Griping tighter to the lamp he held, he willed himself to be still.  When the tremble had lessened somewhat he tried the latch again.  The door was easier to open this time and he went through into the cellar.

A set of stairs ran along the wall to his right, leading down to the second level of the cellar where all the maturing wines and spirits were kept.  All the ales were kept on the first floor, they were more popular with the inn's patrons and therefore kept where they could be easily fetched.  Lynus had often been glad when helping his father cart in the ale casks that they were not housed on the second floor.  The thought of lugging those heavy casks down those stairs was enough to make his legs turn to jelly.  It had been hard enough when he and his younger brother had had to stock the wine cellar two summers past.

He set the lamp down on the sturdy floorboards and began checking for the open cask.  He soon found the one with the seal broken and removed the lid, then dipped in the jug he had carried with him until it was half full.  There was no use filling it, he doubted that the Wizard would be able to drink a full one.  At the thought of the old man waiting for him in the kitchen his hands began to shake again, it took considerable effort to retrieve the jug from the cask while his hands seemed to have a will of their own, it was lucky that he had only half filled the jug, he would have spilt half the contents on the floor the way his hands were behaving.  With some effort he placed the jug next to the lamp and then stood back and stared at the hands that defied his will of self control.  Who would think that after all these years in which he had dreamed of having wild adventures and meeting strange and wonderful people that the moment one of his fantasies came true he got the shakes, and in a bad way.  Why should he be acting in such a way, the old man was only a Wizard.  Horrible images of what Wizards were suppose to do in the dead of night ran through his head, the trembling increased then stopped completely.  If Wizards were as bad as the priests said then his father would never have let the old man in, somehow that thought calmed him.

But what if the Wizard bewitched my father?  Came an unbidden thought from the gloomy side of his brain.  He pushed that thought away, all the stories that he had heard from travellers, told of the kindness of this old man.  Which did he value the word of more, a bunch of disgruntled priests or independent travellers who had nothing to gain by their kind words.

His fear somewhat conquered, he gathered up the jug and the lamp and made his way to the pantry.  He decided that he had better move, half the night was already over and he had work to do, the quicker he got things done here the sooner he would be able to get back to sleep.  The bread that his father had spoken of  was just inside the larder door, apparently the cook had meant for it to go hard for crumbing, it would have to do for this time of night.  After rooting around in an oil soaked sack he found a small lump of cheese and a few slices of mutton wrapped in grease paper.  He wrapped the acquired goods in a cloth and then slung them over his shoulder while balancing the jug in the same hand.  With the other he picked up the lamp and headed back to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a lot warmer than when he had left it, even if it was localised around the fire.  The wizard was where he had left him, standing by the fire and staring up at the mantle piece.  Lynus froze still, he could feel the fear that had gripped him earlier return.  With considerable effort he controlled his unwilling body and closed the door behind him, he then placed the items on the kitchen table.  He found it easier if he kept himself busy and gave his mind less time to think.

“Thankyou Lynus,” Marth said as he moved from the fire to the table, “It’s good of you to get an old man some refreshments at this time of night.  But before I have some of this feast that you have gathered for me, could you tell me how much I owe, for the food and lodging I mean.  I like to pay up front, that way I don’t forget later, that saves you getting nasty with me and I from a guilty conscience when I remember that I haven’t payed.”  He pulled his pouch out from under his cloak, which for some reason he had not taken off, and began to pull at the draw strings.  Lynus stood by the table unable to speak, now that he had to talk to the wizard his mouth froze up.  He knew what he should be saying, that his father handled the money side of things and that the wizard should talk to him about payment, but no matter how he tried his mouth just wouldn’t respond.  Marth’s expression changed from questioning to concern, he dropped the pouch on the table and moved to the boy’s side.  Lynus did not see much more, his vision blackened moments before he passed out, Marth catching him before he hit the floor.

 

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Chapter Three - The Assassin

Chapter 3

 

The Assassin

 

     

      It was midnight before Guiren had finished up his business in the Abbey’s Library.  Like most monks he was an avid reader and had spent the last five hours after chapel in his favourite pastime.  Normally he would have taken the book to his private chambers and done his study there, but the O’Sharin codex, along with all the other rare texts, was forbidden to leave the Library walls.  At first Guiren had started to read the ancient book to learn a little more about his famous ancestor, Hudan Bashier, but later as he became more interested in the story told by the court bard O’Sharin, he began the slow and painstaking task of copying the ancient text.

      The copy he kept with him and would often sit down to read the stories contained within when he had a spare moment during the day.  When he did his copying at night time he took little notice of the sentences he copied, to do so was a mistake that most scribes learn early in their carrier.  He had found out at an early age that to try to make sense while copying waisted valuable time.  He had also found out that little of the O’Sharin text made sense immediately, a lot of it was recorded in nattering rhyme that seamed to go on about nothing, and yet other parts were as easily understood as any other book.

      Guiren was not a young man, but to most he looked to be near thirty, in true age he was nearly sixty, his youth was one of he benefits of his profession.  He stood at just over six feet tall with reddish brown hair and a flowing red beard.  He was broad chested and for a monk was well muscled, in his younger days he had trained with the rapier and had kept up his training, though in more refined arts, when he had joined the order of Borshak.  Essentially Guiren was like any other monk in the Abbey, he went to chapel, he prayed, he made wine and did the other tasks that were asked of him.  It was about there that the similarities ended and the differences started, from the very first day that he had arrived at the Abbey he had been trained as a Defender of the Faith.

      He was only sixteen when he had declined his right to the thrown and defied his father’s wishes.  At his birth he had been named heir to the Hudan Thrown and was raised to be the king when his father passed it onto him.  Perhaps he would have, if he hadn’t got the calling to join the priesthood.  His father, a proud man, was shamed by what his eldest son had done and vowed that few would know what Huiren had decided.  Thus it was that the then King’s most trusted servants faked a hunting accident and arranged to have a fake Huiren buried.  When word reached the Abbey where Huiren had fled to, it was decided, for his own safety, that the young prince would cease to exist in both title and name.  Thus it was that Huiren became Guiren and all that had known who he truly was where forbidden to ever speak of it.

      Over the months that followed a story was invented to cover Guiren’s lack of parentage.  Although the clergy frowned on open lies, it had developed a system of bypassing its own rules and so through the use of rumour and oversights on the hierarchy’s behalf it became generally accepted that Guiren was a runaway fleeing parents that had treated him bad.  Some members of the hierarchy justified looking the other way on the untruths by the fact that it was close enough to the real truth, to Guiren it just proved that the rules could be bent, or at least when the hierarchy deemed it so.

      After retuning the valued text to the vault where all the other rare volumes were kept he closed and bolted down the door.  He picked up the lantern that he kept by his working desk and lit it with one of the candles that still burned on the desk.  Once the lantern was burning brightly he blew out the remaining candles on the desk and proceeded to extinguish the wall lanterns before locking up the Scribe’s Hall.  As always he locked himself in while he worked, lately he was the only one working in the Library at this time of night, thus it was that he took advantage of the peace and quite and locked the Library doors from the inside.

      He was at the Library doors about to slide the bolt across when he heard a faint sound coming from the other side.  It was so faint that he almost passed it off as his imagination, but then his trained mind put an action to the sound and he stopped frozen.  It was a sound that not many would recognise, the sound of a sword sliding from it’s shieth.  It was not a sound that one would expect to hear inside a temple, and one that Guiren decided required more investigation. 

      Quietly he backed up from the door and stopped suddenly, the light from his lantern had already given him away.  In a way it had signalled to those outside that he was coming, to move away would only make them suspicious, to delay opening the door any longer would also arouse there suspicions.  If he was going to act it would have to be soon before they made the move for him, at the moment surprise was on his side, but it was not the only advantage he had.

      Careful not to make any sound he put the lantern on the floor, hoping that the shift it the light would not give him away.  He then moved to the door and slid the bottom bolt across, he did not care how much noise he made now, and he wanted them to know what he was doing.  Once the top bolt was undone he then stood back and kicked the double doors open, he was hoping that the sudden action would take the assailant off guard.  A grunt came from his left where the door had obviously hit someone.  Guiren had no time to consider who was there as a second attacker rushed from around the side of the building brandishing a short sword that reflected the light of the lamp.  The blade had a slight brown tarnish as though some corrosive had been poured upon it, it didn’t take much for him to guess that it was some kind of poison.  The attacker, thinking that he faced an easy unarmed target, made a direct lunge at Guiren.  In an instant Guiren dodged the poorly planed attack and caught the attacker by the wrist in a locking grip.  An instant later his right arm shot out and caught the assassin in the jugular, with a snapping sound bone was broken, the assassin would soon drown on his own blood.  But for the time being he was still a threat and with a twisting motion he swung the blade around and reversed it through the wielders own chest.

      The blade was quickly retrieved from the body and raised just in time to meet the attack of the second assassin.  The ring of steel on steel echoed throughout the courtyard as the two blades met.  Guiren preferred the rapier to the short double-edged blade he now fought with, in truth he preferred to fight unarmed, but with the prospect of poison being used he was not going to take the chance of being cut.  His new opponent was more cautious than his dead comrade was and by the way he wielded a blade he was obviously better trained.  The pair traded blows across the courtyard, several times Guiren could have pressed an advantage, and each time he resisted the urge to do so, soon the temple guards would arrive and with their help he would have a prisoner to question.  The assassin’s face soon began to show fear as he worked out what his opponent was up to, he had realised quickly that he faced a well skilled opponent and had little chance of winning.

Quickly the Assassin gave up all hope of achieving his mission and began to flee across the courtyard.  Guiren, not willing to let the would be assassin escape, followed.  He ran with the short blade doubled back along his forearm, the flat of the blade resting against his skin.  He carried the blade that way to reduce the chance of inflicting self-injury and it would act as a shield should the need arise.  He swiftly followed on the heels of his quarry, but somehow the assassin managed to stay one step ahead of him.  For an assassin who usually relied on stealth and strength in their profession he was extremely fast.  Still it did not matter how fast the chase was going, it was only a matter of moments before the guards at the gate would come running to investigate the disturbance and help him in the capture.

It was when they were crossing the courtyard before the Abbey’s side gate that Guiren realised that the guards at the gate weren’t coming.  The sight of the heavy iron bound gates slightly open and the slumped bodies at the bottom told what fate they had met.  Help now could only come from the guardhouse near the main gates.  The sound of yelling form that direction told him that someone had heard the noise, soon guards would be combing the Abbey for the source of the commotion.  With dashing hopes he realised that help would not arrive before the Assassin reached the safety of the main gate and the city beyond, once lost in the city he would never be found.  He had one hope, in order to leave the compound his assailant would have to push the gates open a little wider to get through, he hoped that would slow him down enough so that he could catch him.  With grim determination Guiren put on what extra pace he could and slowly began to close the distance between them.

With a thud the Assassin collided with the open gate and pushed it open a fraction and then slipped through the gap, Guiren only yards behind.  Suddenly there was another thud, closely folled by another.  Through the gap in the gate Guiren saw the Assassin pinned to the second gate by two crossbow bolts, one piercing the chest through the heart while the other took him through the mouth.  With a clang the sword the Assassin had been carrying clattered to the stone pavement, for a few brief moments the Assassin looked shocked, before life quickly faded from his face.  Fearing the same fate he froze in place, in the dark he could not make out much through the gap in the gates, but any moment he expected to see the unseen attacker close for the kill.  Somewhere on the other-side of the gate a torch flickered and cast a wavering light over what Guiren could see of the pavement.  Moments passed into minutes and with each the sound of the guards came closer, still Guiren held fast, not daring to move past the safety of the gates. 

Finally the sound of clattering hooves could be heard beyond and Guiren chanced a glance.  In the gloom beyond he could clearly make out the shape of a black rider galloping down the abbey road into the city.  The riding figure was carrying a torch high in one hand and holding onto the reins in the other, in the light of the torch he could just make out the shape of a crossbow tucked into the saddle.

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Chapter Four - The Bargain (In progress)

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