Steps echo coldly through the darkened halls, bouncing off the black bricks and into the bottomless abyss that is seemingly sitting right in front of him. The keep didn't seem this large from the outside, its size is proving to be quite impressive right about now, much to Dacian's annoyance. And here he was, thinking that he would quickly strut in and answer his summons before making a quick getaway, but alas, it seems his little reunion would have to wait.
The hall felt endless and he couldn't tell whether he was taking the right way or not. The directions spoken by the guards at the entrance didn't help at all. They spoke of dark halls and sturdy wooden doors, that described the whole damn keep. To think they would let such fools ensure the security of such a fortress, Dacian couldn't help but smirk at their incompetence.
With each step, his fingers twitched and shifted around the letter in his hand. This was the third one that arrived in the last week, one he had not expected at all to receive. The other two were answers to letters he sent himself, but this one? It didn't amount to much more than a poor joke. Still, the time wasn't right to make his move, so why not entertain these fools a little?
"Come. Alone and unarmed, and I promise that you will not be hurt nor taken.", the written words keep floating in his mind, bouncing off the walls of his psyche, kept in perpetual motion by a lingering ember of doubt that he could not snuff out. This tension, it won't let up, not until he finds that damned room the letter speaks of, not until he stands before her. He has to hear her out, he owes her at least that much. Eventually, a door came into view, shrouded in darkness. The spit in Dacian's mouth turned sour, it barely slipped down his throat as he swallowed.
He was walking into something resembling a trap, he could feel it. His free hand slipped by his waist, fingers wrapping around the metal pommel of his blade, then sliding down while grazing the soft leather of its handle. He took a slow breath in, trying to ease his body and mind. He had his blade, he wasn't going down without a fight. He could feel its edge calling to him, as if alive, asking to be unsheathed, hissing a warning to anyone who might seek to bring any sort of harm to its wielder. Coming to think of it, Dacian never gazed upon something so crooked before.
Back then, back home, it merely looked like a fancy blade. A serpentine sword that would never be drawn. A blade with no blood. The Matron was fickle, her candidates soft and meager, a herd with little focus or conviction. It was their fear and weakness that drove this fine blade away. Oh, how they will rue the day they turned their back on such an exquisite tool. Their screams and wails shall be drowned under a tide of red. He could already see it, a crimson future.
But that future crumbles away as Dacian tears his hand free of the blade, reaching for the door.
Here, at the deepest point of the keep, the wood gives way to a room of surprising size. It's not narrow like one would expect, a dim orange hue slithers out into the hall as the door swings open, oozing the allure of comfort and warmth where there is none, almost making Dacian forget that he is about to step into a terrifying unknown, a room in which anything can happen. He swallowed hard as he stepped in fully. Four large wooden wardrobes, one in each of the corners of the room. Tables with books stacked high on both sides, a desk in the middle, two chairs in front of it, one occupied. No windows, the only light was spawned from braziers burning gently. A young man sitting behind the desk, his features shadowed and hard to make out, a quill in his hand as he writes. A large woman leaning against the table on the left, horns on her head, arms crossed. A half-drake no doubt, dressed too finely to belong to the southern tribes.
A woman sitting in front of the desk, her skin made even darker by the thin light. That was her, no doubt about it. Seera finally made it past the ridge. She must be so happy. If only he could share in that happiness.
A voice rang out against the crackling of the fires, "Ah, our esteemed guest has finally arrived.", young and smooth and comforting, "Please, do sit.". He stood up and motioned toward the seat beside Seera. Following his words, the woman turned her head, gazing at him from the corner of her eye. There was something wrong with her gaze, it wasn't like that when he left. Was it contempt? Or fear? Excitement? Was it any kind of emotion, or were her eyes just looking off? He couldn't tell.
Dacian clicked his tongue, "Thank you for the offer, but I'll pass.".
The young man chuckled lightly as he slumped back in his chair, "Suit yourself. Anyhow, now that we are all here, I believe we can begin the mediation between the two parties present. Lucia, if you would be so kind.", he motioned toward one of the wardrobes. The woman moved to it, pulling out multiple glasses and setting them onto the table, a wine bottle following suit.
"Now, Dacian. As you may know, Lady Seera here says she is from beyond the ridge. She claims that the two of you are, in fact, brother and sister, even though I fail to see the resemblance. She came to my city with men and gifts, asking to be let loose, wanting to find you so she may take you back west for whatever reason. Of course, I had to turn her manhunt down but I couldn't turn her away so easily. So, I had a letter delivered to you through those brigands you are holed up with. You read it, I presume?". Dacian nodded as the sound of liquid pouring against glass filled the air. The large woman put two of the glasses on the desk, one meant for the young lord and one for Seera. Such a waste, she doesn't drink.
"Now, I called for you because these are my lands. Any blood spilled here is blood on my hands, and I would much rather avoid that. That, and I figured having this little hearing would help today pass faster. The day before the tourney always drags, doesn't it?", he took the glass in his hands, "Now, both of you will play nice and make your cases, and I will decide whether so-called western justice will be dished out or not.".
A smirk broke across Dacian's face. The nerve of this insolent fool. Who does he think he is to believe that he is the arbiter of fate or justice? He's no lord, just another bastard playing nice so he may get a part of the western pie. "The letter promised me safety. Going back on your word so soon?".
"I promised safety for those who come unarmed. Your sister did. I can see that sword on your hip. By all accounts, you should have left that behind. Now, the best you can do is make your case and hope you can convince me not to hand you over."
His hand slipped towards the blade, "And you are?". The sword was calling to Dacian, begging to be let loose. Gut the halfdrake, carve the tiny lord, walk out a free man.
"Oh, I guess you stopped reading the letter after the first four lines. I am lord Lagen, of the house Nevrut.", he set down the glass and motioned toward the half-drake, "Lucia Whytborn of Aurelthia. She's here to ensure your well behaviour, I hope you don't mind her.".
The scaly woman stepped forward, offering Dacian of glass of wine, their gazes colliding like two knights charging at each other on horseback. She was big, bigger than him. Her gaze was mean and stern and daring him to do something, if he had the guts for it. That confidence behind her eyes, no, that arrogance that screamed "don't worry everyone, I got this!", almost made him unseath his thirsty companion. His hand left the blade and took the glass.
"Enough of this.", that shrill voice, just like he remembered it, "May I speak, my lord?". Save some dignity Seera, we will get our turn to yell at each other soon enough.
"Go ahead.", Lagen raised the glass to his lips after speaking, slurping audibly.
Seera stood up, her waist cape dragging behind her. Large pauldrons and thin vambraces, thin strips of leather on her pants, her hair braided in a tail akin to those of the northerners. Her look was a far cry from the meek and pious woman he knew. "Dacian, I come to you as your sister, not as your enemy, so you better do well and listen to what I have to say. I know that our family has always been fickle and unpleasant, I know of all the nights you spent alone, afraid and unsure, especially after uncle's death...", she stuttered for a moment, almost choking up, "...a-and I am so sorry that I wasn't there for you. I am so sorry that I couldn't do more for you, but I promise that everything will be different from now on. Come back to the west with me. Give up your sword and your fruitless ambitions, and everything will be good. Mother has sworn to be merciful and I am sure that any punishment you may receive will be but for a moment.".
Her eyes sparkled with an ember of hope. Too bad, hopes are meant to be dashed.
Dacian raised his hand to stop his sister from talking, raising the glass and downing the wine in one gulp before speaking, "Stop wasting your breath. Do you even hear what you are saying? I can't believe you'd come to me with such bullshit. When has our queen ever been gentle with me? She knows no kindness and nor do I need it. You haven't done me any wrong, and I am glad I had someone as bright and wonderful as you in my life. For the others, I can't say I blame them for they treated me but I cannot accept it either. I will not be held down any longer.".
"Oh my, drama within the family? Couldn't this have been something more interesting?", the young man scoffed as he stood up, walking toward one of the tables and picking up a book. Now, in the light of the tender fires, his visage was unveiled. Long hair and soft features, opulent clothing and androgynous in nature, he could pass for a woman if not for that voice of his. "Couldn't you two pick a better place for this?". Following his words, Dacian made a mental note to gut him if ever given the chance.
"Don't you understand, Dacian? You have nowhere to run! Nowhere to hide either! Please, accept our terms and live!", her voice becoming shaky, and it wouldn't be much longer until Seera starts to tear up. She's a gentle soul, not meant for this. No, not at all, "I really don't want to do this, Dacian. The Matron chose me. I am her blessed one, and I am to hunt and hound you until I can bring you back to the west. So please, come with me now. I really don't want to hurt you!". A lump formed in Dacian's throat.
His fingers tightened around the smooth glass firmly. The Matron's blessing? Looks like she finally picked a suitable candidate for sainthood. His clutches became even tighter, firmer. She made the perfect choice if sainthood meant giving speeches and holding lectures, and liturgies. But that's not it. A saint must be strong and steadfast and capable. She's no fighter, she has no heart for it. The sound of glass breaking filled the air as Dacian's glass broke in his hand. A few shards dug themselves in his hand while the others fell to the floor, he was deaf to the sound they made upon hitting the dark bricks below his feet.
"Stop, Seera. Don't make a fool out of yourself. Don't beg and don't grovel, this is not what I want. I am not coming back, and I would advise you to stay away from me. I am stronger than I was before. I have people I can trust. Capable people. Dangerous people. Don't force my hand on this. Don't make a mistake we both will regret."
And as those last words were uttered by Dacian, he turned around and stormed off into the darkness of the hall before Seera could respond. He couldn't stand any more of her pathetic display. Good thing he got out before she started crying, otherwise he would have cried too. He expected contempt and hate from her. Resentment too. He expected her feelings to mirror those of everyone back home, not compassion and hope for a peaceful resolution. Who does she think she is? To offer him a second chance like that. She's no saviour, and he doesn't need saving. He doesn't need her pity, nor the queen's, nor the people's. He'll save himself. He's strong and able and daring, and now, he is free to do as he wishes. He'll prove himself worthy, he'll prove them all wrong, and maybe then he'll be allowed to live his life.
Dacian walked like his life depended on it, a hundred thoughts racing in his head, a concoction of feelings swirling akin to a vortex in his psyche. It was already night by the time he distanced himself from the keep. The air was cool, his head was not. He gazed upon the square from above. It was empty, for the most part. Only a few stragglers remain, picking up and bundling their left-over merchandise, looking forward to finally laying down their heads after an entire day of peddling. It was a calming sight, unlike the one he got earlier in the day.
The day really did pass in a flash, just like Daeia claimed it would. She must have met with Servosh at noon, he'll ask her all about it once he heads back to their little encampment. Still, making little plans isn't helping him settle his nerves in any way whatsoever. So he sits down, feet dangling off the edge, watching the ants below move to and fro. Waiting, all he can do is try to think of nothing and slowly pick out the few glass shards that remained etched in his aching hand.
And thus, the world fell silent. No wind. No steps. Even the sword stopped whispering. A sea of darkness sat in front of him, and all he could do was stare into the abyss, unsure whether to step ahead or turn away. Alderan was gone. No lights. No ants moving about below. No white-washed houses, no stone walls and no black keep. The sky was darker still, no stars in sight. Even the moon was gone. Darkness all around. And then, he smirked in realisation of what was happening.
Dacian spoke, but no words left his mouth, "Aroth, cease this foolishness at once. Today was rough and I won't take kindly to your meddling if it persists.", or more like, he couldn't even hear his own voice in the darkness.
Snap. In an instant, Alderan appeared again, the darkness giving way to stone and wood and the little embers that were speckled here and there.
"I thought little Dacian liked my magic tricks", a voice spoke out from behind. Strange and foreign as it sounded to a normal person, Dacian was very familiar with it, "I guess my favourite lad did really change.".
Dacian put his hands on the back of his head, allowing himself to fall backwards, resting on the cold ground while gazing upwards. A man was staring down at him, an assortment of rings on his fingers, a large necklace hanging from his neck. Had it not been for the lack of light, his blue eyes would have pierced through Dacian like arrows pierce through flesh.
"People change.".
He squatted, bringing their faces closer, "That they do. Had a good time at the keep?".
"No. You met the people I said...master said you would?".
"That I did. Funny-looking young fellow and half-shaven woman? Both seen by yours truly." He put a hand on his chest as he spoke, "both accounted for. I followed them as they left. I had to leave my stall for it and all. You know, I was making quite the profit today and I had to give it up for you. You better be grateful.".
Finally, some good news to brighten this gloomy day. It won't be long until his mark leaves for the path. He'll march them down as soon as they leave Alderan, not too eagerly, however. He'll take his time with it, tracking them has proven to be quite enjoyable. With each track they leave on the dry soil, with each campfire snuffed and left behind, he feels a certain satisfaction swell within. Oh, and when they realise that they are being followed, how they panic! How they run! Hurried and hasty, making mistakes, making it ever so easy to track them. The thrill of the hunt, Dacian would have never guessed that it would bring him such happiness. They can run as far as they want, he'll always be on their tail. They can't get away. "He" won't let their trail go cold. He'll catch them anyway, so why not have a little fun along the way?
"Good. You did good, Aroth. They'll leave before long and I'll be biting at their heels all the while.", a grin cracked, filled with excitement, "Will you be joining us for good? We could use someone like you.", he asked while slowly scrambling to his feet.
Aroth gave him a brotherly slap on the shoulder as he spoke, "Of course I'll be joining you. I wouldn't have come here if not for your letter, you know. You need not ask, I'll always be here for you. But still, what do you have with these people?".
Dacian nodded to his left, motioning for Aroth to follow him as he stepped ahead, speaking as they went. "I can't tell you, not now at least but I won't lie to you. I am doing this for someone else, but I am also doing it for myself. I have already asked all the favours I could, and half the people I called for have already come. The rest are yet to answer. Blood will be shed. Not too much, just enough to make a difference.".
"Blood?", his expression turned into a scowl, "Since when are you interested in shedding blood?".
Blood? Dacian never liked it. He always used to grimace at the sight of blood whenever cuts were given or received during training. He's changed since then, however. A fresh cut, a bloody scrape, a gnarly wound. It all brings a smile to his face, a smile that is not his own and one he cannot control. Still, blood does not please him, but it must be shed, or so he tells himself. Just a little blood, just enough to mend it all. "Yes. Does it bother you?".
Their steps rang out across the stillness of the night, tender lights hanging gently above their heads offering little guidance. The corners of houses and buildings seeming sharp and jagged in the darkness, their windows cold and haunted under the thin moonlight, the bricks under their feet dark and muddy. "No. Well, it wouldn't normally. I never thought you'd be one to spill blood. That doesn't sit well with me.".
Dacian did not respond. He had nothing to say. He must be so different from the boy Aroth used to tease and play with back in the day. He wasn't the boy he used to duel with wooden swords by the grand fountain, the one that sat in the marshal's court. Aroth always indulged him, despite there being seven years between them. Thus, the boys fought with swords and shields, Daeia often joining on Dacian's side, living out the old epics Dacian was so fond of through their fighting. It never ended well for the pair. Eventually, Aroth would get tired of their hounding, using his tricks to make one stumble down and onto their face while besting the other and dumping them head first into the fountain. It was fun. Aroth must feel so disappointed to see what his little "brother" had become. But that was Dacian. A walking mistake. How many others did he disappoint? It would be easier to count the ones he didn't actually.
"Would you say that any of the lives you are looking to snuff out deserve it? Have they earned that fate?", a question that was better left unasked for Dacian didn't know the answer. Not entirely, at least. As those words left Aroth's mouth, Dacian's psyche recoiled as if lashed by a whip. He didn't know what to say, for he hadn't thought that hard about it. Did the pilgrim he ambushed deserve it? No, not quite. And yet, Dacian was ordered to seek him out and to put an end to his story before it even began. He was, by all accounts, innocent. But did that even matter? Does innocence in the present matter when you are sure to turn into something horrid if left unchecked for long enough? No, Dacian did not kill that man. He merely prevented a monster from eventually growing fangs and preying on the weak.
"He did, I am sure of it. And those two you saw today are no better. The boy? He's being led around by a false idol, looking to become yet another fool in his troupe.", their steps echoed gently through the night, Dacian keeping his voice low and steady, one hand on his blade and the other by his side. "And that woman you spoke of? She's even worse. A killer. A torturer. A traitor. I saw her work. I saw the last person she carved up, and it made me sick to my stomach. We found it, an unmarked grave in the middle of the woods, not too far from here. A young man, maybe around my age. A large gash across his neck, his tummy cut open, and entrails spilling out. Rotten flesh and countless maggots. A horrid sight. I cut off two of his fingers. We delivered them to her right before she arrived here. As I bring down my blade upon her neck, I want her to know that it was her actions that led her towards this crooked fate.".
"So, you are doing this for justice?".
Dacian turned and flashed him a wide grin, "No. I told you before. I am doing this for myself.".
The two kept conversing as they walked. Dacian led his old friend through dark alleys and across countless streets, the city turned motionless with the exception of the patrolling guards. They headed toward the southern gate, the same one that tied the lower districts to the main city and its citadel. Through the lower districts, buildings huddle together as if they are newborn pups trying to stay warm during the winter, the light is scarce, and the air remains heavy and humid. Walking across the cobbles, the houses become scarcer, until they turn into opulent palaces with lush and grand gardens around them. Walking further still makes one leave civilization behind as a whole, leading them to a series of fields and hills. Amongst these hills, their little camp was made.
A shanty little settlement consisting of a few raggedy tents, too few for the number of men Dacian had bought with the coin he stole from back home. Still, most of the mercenaries were out delivering and waiting for letters, a few were out scouting and even fewer were keeping watch during the night. Still, as he came into the encampment, with Aroth in tow, Dacian came across a strange sight. There, just before his tent, stood a woman.
Tall. Stout. Horns and rough skin. The woman from the keep was waiting for him just outside his tent. His eyes went wide with surprise as he spoke, "How the hell did you get here?". When did she? How did she? How come no one saw her? Where was Daeia?
"Laken has his ways.", she spoke slowly, taking one step ahead. She seemed bigger than she was back at the keep. Dacian's hand slowly slipped towards his blade, his fingers wrapping themselves around the handle in a reverse grip.
"Laken? I never thought an alderanian would ever keep a "scale" like you as a dog.", he jested. Aroth didn't speak as he took one step back. He was positioning himself towards her side, just in case things got hairy. "Since when is scum like you allowed within those walls? What did you have to do to get yourself in such a comfortable position? Oh, it must have cost you your pride and dignity, no?".
Her visage broke into a toothy grin, teeth sharp and ready to bite. "Big words for a small man. You got guts. I like it.", she stepped forward again, grabbing hold of Dacian's chin with a gloved hand, a quartet of gems glinting in the moonlight. She was wearing a catalyst glove, no doubt about it.
"Such words are cause for a duel in the south. You're lucky you met me here, boy. Here, you'll come to the tourney tomorrow.", she produced a letter from under her jacket as she stepped back.
"The tourney? This isn't how a formal invitation should be presented.", Dacian took the letter from her outstretched hand.
"I don't work for Laken or for any other fool from around here, in fact.", she shrugged, "Show. Don't show. No one cares.", she spat over her shoulder as she walked away.
Aroth spoke once the woman was out of sight, "What was that about?".
"I would be lying if I claimed to know. To me, she's just a freak sent to deliver a letter. What does she strike you as?".
"A pain in the ass, that's what she would have been if we had to fight.", he shrugged.
True enough. Big and well-equipped, she would have been trouble had they the need to resort to violence, "She was wearing a catalyst on her hand. She would have burnt down the plains, had it come to that.".
"You think so?".
"She would have. Unless I ran her through before she realised it.".
"And would have been ready to do that?".
"Y-yes...", an unsure response, "Let's not dwell on such pointless questions. Rest for we got a lot of work on our hands.".
And like that, Aroth claimed his spot in the tent beside Dacian's. He'll have to share it with Daeia and Servosh for the time being but he didn't mind, or he didn't care enough to bring it up, or merely he didn't realise that it was bound to get a bit more crowded than it first looked.
Sleep barely came. With the hunt on the horizon, the predator can seldom sleep. Even with his eyes closed and mind blank, he could still hear the blade hiss in his ears.
It was asking for blood.