Never meet your heroes
Part II
-The Assassins Lair and other stories-
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Known or mentioned still-living ‘Silent Servants’ around 196 NC, and other members of this Jelin-based Assassins Guild.
Ralnor. Also ‘Larn’. Guild name Dar Eherdir. Several other monikers lost in antiquity. The Guild’s original founder many centuries in the past and permanent shadow leader. Former member of the Wetull-based but working in similar ways, very-elusive Nym’s Circle, or ‘Servants of the Fading Light’. A much older, mostly Zilan-crewed guild of assassins. A rare Mori-Zilan and Zilan half-breed of very pale complexion and one of the many ‘Strays’ the late sorceress Edlenn O’ Sintoriela had saved.
‘Rhys Vardran’.* Guild name Dar TulCa, or simply Tul-Luka. Larn’s pupil for a time. A lone-wolf Lorian-Cofol-Issir half-breed of unknown origins that operated on Eplas for at least twenty years. The Guild’s de-facto acting leader after Maja stepped down. Rhys had a dead Alafern familiar named Bekare haunting him (in spirit form or via outright possession), another assassin and a member of the probably oldest assassin’s guild in recorded history, the ‘Lar O’ Talas Dagnir’. The Mistland-originated and vampire-crewed ‘League of Forsaken Slayers’.
Maja. Guild name Dar Faerith K’Lael. Much older leader of the Silent Servants Guild for several decades, a former Lorian whore working with the famed, but now aged prostitute, and later brothel ‘Lena’ and owner Zizel Verano (a close friend of hers) that Larn had healed from a life-threatening disease. After Maja recovered fully, Larn trained her and placed in charge of the Guild at Verano’s request. Verano was one of the Guild’s older associates.
Selussa. Guild name Dar Yaule (Spectral Cat), but also referred to as Dar Onona (Translated –Gloomy twin-born slice, or a part of two twins) which was her sister’s moniker. One of two, orphaned after a Horselord caravan raid, Cofol twin sisters (the other the late Zestari) Larn had saved and then parented for many years per his modus operandi. Larn didn’t stand a father-figure for all his pupils.
Clark Kobe. Guild name Dar Pengron (Translated –Ghostly Archer). Nord-born assassin working in the Far North, now close to retirement and the first of Maja’s pupils.
Griet. Guild name Dar Lim (Translated –Opaque quickness). An Issir female and Maja’s final pupil.
Toutatis. Also ‘Tut’, ‘Larn’s Kid’ etc. Guild name Dar Lomear (Translated –shady child of Doom). Several other monikers. Another hapless orphan out of Rida, so of Lorian origins, the one-eyed and horrifically scarred at a young age Tut rose in prominence as one of Larn’s last pupils (the other being the late Mezera) working mostly in Eplas and he was to be the last stray Larn helped to adulthood.
Robart Barlow. The Guild’s Mediator and Accountant. The original Robart had already been killed and replaced with an Aken Construct at the time of the saga. Unknown whereabouts, suspected to roam aboard the wraithlike Barque ‘Fleur De-Luce’ somewhere near the port of Mussel in Goras or Wetull’s Reefs.
Dean Kutas. An ill-repute Lorian but Eplas-based associate, dispatched to work the Guild’s Golden Brin Inn in Altarin after the loss of a man named Kise, four years prior to the start of the saga.
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An hour later, late morning.
Rhys’ Creek Bridge.
-The entrance to the Golden Forest and the road towards the newly created Gold Mines under Lesia Gaze Peaks (the mountain range hugging the narrow patch of palms) sixty kilometers away. The mines belonged to Lord Nattas’ rich domain, but the first ten kilometers of land, starting north of the river and deep into the forest, had been sold to a certain Rhys Vardran –per the Duchy’s registry entry- for a hundred gold Eagles –a very low sum. They thus were a private domain contained within Nattas’ family lands, incorporating a single large compound/estate known as Vila Silentium.
The creek was moderately deep and at least twenty meters across at its narrowest. It was there that a small Lorian limestone bridge with a single arch and cheap marble finish had been erected. Sirio led his horse through the narrow one-way bridge —three meters across— and watched with worried eyes his surroundings. Despite signs of heavy usage, no one appeared to be around at the time he arrived, around late morning.
Chirping birds were present and swarms of buzzing insects, mostly mosquitos. The tensed but appreciative of the nature around him historian, went across the bridge without incidents, listening to the horse’s hooves clip-clopping on the stone tiles and reached the cobblestone on the other side keeping a pleasant pace. Sirio pulled at the reins right after he crossed the creek relieved, then immediately let out a small yelp when a slim figure -clad in tight-fitting light leather armour under a long dark cloak, came out of the bushes to his right, still shaded by the old palms.
“Customs check,” the woman taunted, the shade coloring her skin black with only the eyes showing under the hood, until Sirio realized she was an Issir.
“I have a gold Eagle here,” Sirio declared and reached inside his burgundy-colored tunic for his purse.
Several things happened at the same time just after his hand moved. Griet, for it was her, moved as well with a concerned hiss causing her hood to fly back, something stirred on the trees to his left and Sirio found himself hurled from the saddle with a protracted scream. It ended with a pained gasp when the historian landed badly and rolled in the dirt next to the cobblestone whimpering.
“Don’t fire again!” Griet yelled at someone hidden and rushed to skirt around the nervous horse to check on the coughing in complete shock Sirio.
What happened? Sirio wondered and sat up on his arse, to look about him confused. Griet snapped her fingers in front of his face once to get his attention.
Sirio blinked, as the fit woman knelt like a ghostly apparition in front of him, behind a foggy veil and then groaned ineligibly, before he could control himself.
“Ouch… ergh.”
It was very awkward.
“Are you hurt?” Griet asked, looking into his eyes. The woman’s voice came from very close, despite her figure appearing still blurry and distant. “Can you see me without the glasses?”
Ah. The stunned from the fall and subsequent tumble Sirio realized and tried to locate his glasses tapping at his chest, but ended up grabbing the leather strap from his satchel instead. He moved it aside not to further strangle him. “I must have slipped somehow, dark mistress.”
The coyly smiling Griet gave him the hanged from his neck glasses. “Put them on, Mister Veturius.”
“Gratitude,” Sirio replied politely, still shaken and stared at the Issir woman sporting the short boyish haircut smiling at him.
It was a nice moment.
“Your satchel stopped an arrow,” Griet explained, in a more serious tone. “The force hurled you off the saddle like a toddler.”
This part wasn’t as nice.
“I was surprised,” Sirio protested weakly.
Arrow?
Surely not!
“Um. It is right there, still stuck on yer satchel,” Griet murmured. “You landed on your head almost. You are so clumsy and awkward, it actually worked in your darn favor!”
Sirio reached to check the top of his head, and used the opportunity to comb his well-oiled but now dirty hair with his fingers. “A careless hunter?” He probed to distract Griet whilst he cleaned up the mess.
“Hah. Heard that Kobe?” Griet barked at someone. “Barely above a hunter, he says; you darn old fool!”
“Hey,” a rough voice rustled, somewhere behind his horse. “It was a quick load and fire, amidst my morning nap and atop a flimsy branch! So plenty of difficulty in the plaguing shot! Not to mention the sneaky bastard made a sudden move there!”
Sirio made to stand with the help of Griet, and managed it just as the tall, sinewy Northman appeared carrying a bow over his back. Kobe had red hair once, but now there was plenty of grey in his short beard. The man was also missing an index finger and had the stump covered with a hardened leather sheath.
“Mister Veturius didn’t,” Griet admonished him, trying to clean Sirio’s tunic from the dirt. Other than a nasty scratch on his left elbow and a small tear at the same-side sleeve, Sirio wasn’t really hurt.
“It’s alright,” Sirio said diplomatically and tended an arm to greet the frowning Kobe. “It was an honest mistake.”
“Don’t know about that part, I really tried to nail you, mister,” Kobe told him and shook Sirio’s arm unsure. “Just missed.”
“Oh, boy,” Griet gasped. “Enough. Mister Sirio, is Maja’s husband?”
“Him?” Kobe blurted out afore he could control himself. “I’ll be damned.”
“Yes Clark, ye would be, had you hurt him.” Griet hissed warningly. “Don’t say another word!”
“Eh,” Clark Kobe grunted and stepped back. “Issir bitches,” he murmured under his breath.
“Motherfucker,” Griet snarled. “I heard that!”
“Eh,” Clark murmured and pursed his mouth to show her he wasn’t speaking no more.
Griet sighed and stared at the still rattled from the fall Sirio, now feeling more parts of his body waking up and hurting. Like his right knee and a point right under his neck. Hmm.
“Sirio,” Griet said, moving her finger in front of his eyes to check whether he had brain damage. “What… are you… doing… here?” She asked slowly and with several pauses to give him the time to understand her words.
This was downright embarrassing.
“Miss Griet. I’m perfectly unharmed,” Sirio assured her and recoiled from a sudden jolt of pain to his knee. “Ah. Just give me the briefest of moments to catch mine breath.”
“Sirio,” Griet repeated. “What are you doing here? Moon’s Haven is that way. Directly south.”
“I’m here to meet, Mister Rhys,” Sirio said, a little annoyed and Kobe started coughing not expecting the historian’s answer.
“How the hell does he know—?”
“Shut up Clark!” Griet snapped angrily.
“Choke on a dick, ye uptight bitch!” Clark snapped back and Griet clenched her jaw, teeth grinding behind the pursed lips. “I was promised a blasted vacation! Ain’t feeling it!”
“Why seek out Rhys, Sirio?” Griet hissed, trying to remain civil with the Historian. “Did Maja send you?”
“What? No. I’m here on personal business,” Sirio retorted vaguely.
“Oops,” Kobe commented with a leer. “Marital troubles escalated. It is how it starts. I guess council failed?”
Huh?
“Clark, I swear to Oras if you don’t shut up,” Griet hissed and glared in Sirio’s face intently. “You just had a kid, why?” She queried and Sirio grimaced uncertain.
“What does this have to do…?” Sirio paused seeing Griet’s face distort with anger. “Suppose that it does,” he pivoted until more information became available to him. “This has nothing to do with Maja,” Sirio added and Griet puffed out in relief.
“Good.”
Sirio nodded. “I still need to see this Rhys.”
“What for? Just write what you want in a piece of paper,” Griet argued. “Rhys is busy right now, anyways.”
“Why would I…?” Sirio paused and glanced at Kobe, the Northman had gotten a wild banana out and was munching on it, spitting the little spores on the ground noisily, then Sirio stared at the curious Griet. “You are with the Guild,” the Historian said and Griet raised a white eyebrow.
“You knew that, you silly man.” Griet said with smile.
“Mister Kobe as well,” Sirio surmised solemnly.
“Hey, I neither confirm nor deny that! What the fuck is this shite? An open session?” Clark grunted with a pained grimace, as he’d unwittingly swallowed a large piece of the peeled banana.
Spores and all.
“Rhys?” Sirio asked and Griet stepped back in surprise.
“Didn’t Maja tell you? Hmm. Then how did you…?” Griet narrowed her eyes. “Who sent you here, Sirio?”
“I’m on official business,” Sirio replied stiffly. “I won’t say anymore.”
Sirio had probably revealed more than he should have already.
Ah, damn it. The fall messed me up.
I need to check the satchel. The arrow might have damaged the ink pots!
“Does Rhys know you’re coming?” Griet asked interrupting his musings.
“Griet,” Sirio said, this time in a sterner manner. “I’m sorry, lass. But this is a personal matter.”
“You just said it was an official business,” Griet argued and Kobe nodded, whilst looking about for another dropped mature banana.
“Did I?” Sirio asked to create confusion, trying to remember his days as an agent in the army —granted doing office and not field work— which caused Griet to roll her eyes in exasperation.
“Does Maja know you are here?” Griet asked a little worried.
“Um,” Sirio mumbled, not wanting to reveal more.
“Oh god. I’ll get you to the Villa,” Griet grimaced and stared at Kobe. “Wait here. Kill no one, and write down any coins you receive. Those returning to Moon Haven have already paid.”
“Seriously?” Kobe protested. “I’m on vacation and all but retired, wench!”
“Not yet,” Griet hissed through her teeth. “Ye aren’t. You heard Rhys.”
“Fuck him,” Kobe grunted not happy. “God damn it!”
“Let’s go,” Griet grunted turning to Sirio. “I’ll get my horse.”
“You have a horse around?” Sirio probed curious.
“Three,” Griet replied. “Surely you saw the disturbed ground at the edge of the road? Is why you stopped no? There, just beyond that point, we have a campsite.”
Sirio furrowed his thick brows until they touched the thin bridge of his glasses, but opted not to comment and just nodded in agreement.
Alright, this was a miss, but this place stands naught but unknown terrain in the middle of nowhere, Sirio excused himself. Close proximity to Moon’s Haven notwithstanding.
“So… Does Maja know you are here?” Griet asked riding right next to him on a nibble spotted palfrey. White with black patches. A beautiful horse.
Sirio grimaced, using a hand to press the low part of his back that still hurt from the fall, though not as much as his knee. “She does.”
“Come on, Sirio. There’s no way she would have sent you here without first telling you what Villa Silentium is.”
“What is it?”
“The place that took over from Rosebush as our headquarters,” Griet replied watching him out of the corner of her eye. “Rhys made the change. It isn’t exactly visionary, but it was well received due to the nicer location. This was virgin royal land.”
“Well received by the killers is your meaning? Pardon, your colleagues,” Sirio retorted. “How many are there?”
“Less than you think or many more,” Griet murmured and the road through the palms brought them at an opening. The cobblestone changing to a dirt road and all trees cut down beyond a high wooden fence. A square structure with smaller buildings attached to it and no windows, but for parapets with narrow loop-holes at the triangular merlon on its rooftop and second floor. The villa resembled a fortified warehouse.
“This is the Guild’s lair now,” Griet explained. “Rhys ushered in a new era. That’s it. You’ve seen it. Are you satisfied? Ready to turn around and return to Moon’s Haven?”
Does Lord Nattas know this bit?
With a snort Sirio led his horse through the open gates and into the expansive yard that still had signs of the working crews’ presence from abandoned tools and carts, to piles of building material. Mainly sturdy pre-cut granite bricks, the latter what the ugly villa had been built with.
The place looked abandoned, but it wasn’t. A mid-aged Lorian woman wrapped in a thin yellow chiton, paused to watch the two riders approach the main building and then returned inside through a side door.
“Where’s the marble?” Sirio asked.
“Rhys doesn’t believe in it,” Griet replied and brought their horses to a stop before the main entrance. “Let me check if anyone is inside.”
“Someone just walked in,” Sirio retorted.
“That’s madam Verano,” Griet explained. “A guest of sorts.”
“The old prostitute,” Sirio hissed remembering the name from his talks with Nattas. “You told me Rhys has a soulmate. He brought a whore home, while his girlfriend is away?”
And isn’t the old girl like retired according to Nattas?
The former Baron had mentioned her close to a decade in the past and Verano was an old woman back then already.
Griet pursed her mouth and then jumped from the palfrey lithely. She paused to wait for Sirio to climb down as well, and when he did, she said in a serious voice.
“She’s not away. Her name is Selussa. Be friendly, Sirio.”
“I’m friendly,” Sirio protested nervously.
“No, you aren’t. You have this snooty, passive-aggressive posture of the pseudo-intellectuals,” Griet hissed.
Pseudo?
“Dear Griet,” an insulted Sirio told the fit, boyish in manners Issir female assassin, trying to sound reasonable. “I stand an acknowledged polymath since my teen years. A man who has dedicated his life to work and study in the libraries of Alden and Cartagen, not to mention all other topics I’ve tackled in my spare time or the interesting stretch I enjoyed in Lucius’ own army and serving the Governor of Novesium. Some of the tasks I’ve undertaken quite based, others monumental in nature and obviously fraught with peril.”
Sirio stood back satisfied he’d presented himself in a detailed and enlightening manner.
“Exactly,” Griet said simply with a nod of her head as if he’d just made her case, then gestured for him to stay silent, and follow her lead.
Great, a person of limited mental capacity thinks it knows better. Sirio thought and with another glance at the depressing fa?ade of the so called villa, shuffled his feet after the short woman.
Well, this a cold, spooky place, Sirio thought, attempting to discern the details of the massive hall that came after a brief dark corridor. The outside light didn’t reach this room, and other than a lit fireplace thirty meters across from them, the rectangular hall was covered in thick darkness. Sirio could spot a divan near the fireplace, a small exotic table near it and a couple of Eplas-style sitting pillows. He guessed the walls stood barren also, even absent a simple coat of paint, not that he could have spotted any exotic frescos inside this gloomy artificial cave.
“Goodness me,” Sirio murmured, narrowing his eyes behind the finger thick glasses. “Who called this place a villa?”
“Shush,” Griet hissed, trying to discern whether the large empty hall was occupied or not. “I’ll light a torch for you, and you’ll wait there whilst I go out to check where everyone is.”
“I have a firestone right here,” Sirio retorted and searched the pockets of his travelling cloak. Then the folds of his tunic, before digging inside his satchel. “Somewhere here…” he mumbled and then groaned when one of the unseen wall-torches next to the entrance flashed with a bright white light. Even so, the dark was so thick the torch just created another semi-circular lit spot inside the dark and cold hall, to match the distant fireplace’s well-lit area.
“It’s a lightstone torch. They need no fire,” Griet explained. “Where did you find a firestone?”
The Casola bros smuggle them in.
“Trade secrets,” Sirio retorted clenching his jaw stubbornly.
“Pfft. I know about the Zilan in the woods,” Griet shot back.
What Zilan?
“Um,” Sirio murmured, not giving her any more information.
“Stay here. It might take me a moment to locate them. This is a big place and an even bigger property.”
“How the hells did this Rhys convince Nattas to sell?” Sirio asked. “How did they convince the King to allow it? This was a royal forest!”
“Ask Rhys,” Griet retorted. “Stay here. My colleagues don’t enjoy interruptions.”
Sensitive arrow-shooting villains, Sirio thought, shaking his head with skepticism at first, before giving a curt nod that he understood the pedantic instructions.
For a while that is.
Because Griet had taken her sweet time to return or give any signs of life and Sirio started feeling oppressed by the silent, but for the sound of the slowly-dying fireplace, dark room. He shifted the weight from one foot to the other, stretched his back to alleviate some of the discomfort from the earlier acrobatics and even fingered the hole in the side of his satchel, where Kobe’s arrow had stopped.
The Nord assassin had retrieved his arrow at some point, but left the damage to the leather bag. Sirio pursed his lips, looking about him but seeing few details revealed. The hall was mostly an empty space but for a couple divans at the far corner. Wanting to help his eyes, Sirio moved from the lit spot and walked inside the hall to approach the fireplace. Due to the thick dark between him and the distant fireplace, he stayed near the side wall. Sirio walked gingerly, ogling his eyes to discern obstacles, but encountered nothing of import on that side of the wall.
About five meters from the semi-lit area around the fireplace he paused with a violent shiver. Something extremely cold had passed through him, the sudden chill almost forcing urine out of his shriveling cock. Sirio gasped and put a hand on the wall to stabilize himself after the creepy experience.
He cleared his throat, attempting to gather his thoughts, when from a door near the fireplace -hidden in the shadows- emerged a statuesque, heavily pregnant woman, striding heavily on bare feet. The light illuminated her fit physique, despite the signs of late pregnancy, particularly evident in her muscular legs and thick thighs. The Cofol woman had her braided hair secured at the nape and donned a short sheer tunic, which was open at the front, revealing her protruding swollen belly.
Mother’s mercy, the unseen Sirio thought as he beheld in aroused silence the exotic woman collapse onto the divan with a pained groan, the soft glow of the fireplace casting light on her sweaty face, heavy breasts, and bare skin, as she wore nothing else beneath.
Sirio blinked, frozen in the shadows nearby, while the oblivious woman reached for a long-necked vial on the table, uncorked it, and poured what seemed to be a medicinal oil onto her palms, which she then used to massage the stretched skin with careful, deliberate movements.
Breathing heavy and in apparent discomfort, she stooped between her legs and used the rest of the oil on the inside of her parted thick thighs. Sirio stood about four meters away in almost total darkness, and had an unobstructed view of the pregnant woman’s ministrations.
The caught unawares historian licked his dry lips, feeling heat replacing his prior bout of chill, and thought about retreating towards the exit, not to be caught peeping at the villa’s guest or hostess’ private moment.
Is this Selussa? Sirio wondered. It is a Cofol name of sorts after all.
No… it isn’t. He quickly surmised, correcting himself. It is though, an Imperial Zilan name, but perhaps the Cofols have taken up the practice of using them?
It was too-soon to jump into conclusions.
Damn it.
I need to leave the room, Sirio decided nervously, half-engrossed at the private moment offered to him by the oblivious woman. Oi, this is bad.
She’ll hear me surely.
Perhaps a silent slow-retreat.
Backpedaling very slowly offers the opportunity to distance myself.
Take your time. Reach the door and the other torch and pretend you just arrived?
It might work.
Eh.
Don’t breathe so loud, he admonished himself.
His left sandaled heel scraped on the wall as he backpedaled. The tiniest of bumps. Botherations! Sirio’s whole body locked up from the extreme tension and he felt his dormant cock waking up inside his undergarments.
Sirio held his breath, his ogled eyes tensely watching the Cofol woman finish massaging her thighs and then return the oil phial on the table in silence. A tiny sweat rivulet run down Sirio’s wrinkled from the stress forehead and burned its way inside his right eye.
The woman pushed herself up with a moan and then shuffled towards the fireplace. Sirio grimaced, glanced towards the lit torch with one eye, the other still watching the semi-clad pregnant woman turn around to stare in his general direction.
Then towards the single lit torch by the entrance.
Surely, she won’t remember such a minor detail in her condition, a tensed Sirio thought and the woman took a forward step, still grimacing from what appeared to be a severe contraction. She raised an arm and pointed a fireplace bronze poker in Sirio’s general direction.
She can’t see shit, a half-panicked Sirio urged himself.
Don’t panic now!
It was too late, he felt the panic spread in his limbs like poison.
“I heard you,” the woman hissed, breathing out to alleviate some of the discomfort. “Get the fuck out, Kobe! You foul-mouthed creep!”
Ah. Well then, Sirio grimaced to control a yelp that had almost left his pursed lips, a nervous tick in his foggy right eye -birthed from the extreme pressure he felt under, and took an uncertain step backwards, trying to avoid connecting with the wall this time.
Use the hand for the love of science!
“Oras Hells,” the angry –despite her lovely exotic accent- woman was heard a moment later. “What fresh devil are you?”
Goodness me, Sirio gasped caught mid-stride and turned around to face the bristling Cofol woman. Ma’am, thy raw swollen femaleness can stimulate a man of certain, generally frowned upon vices, which alas I stand guilty of, Sirio mused and let out a resigned sigh, deciding it was time to explain himself.
As much as that was humanly possible.
“Humble apologies, for the untimely intrusion,” Sirio said taking a step forward, and the woman recoiled at the sound of his voice –perhaps she wasn’t fully certain of his presence after all- then snapped her arm and hurled the poker aiming it towards him.
Mercy’s sake!
Sirio blinked, almost turning an ankle in the failed attempt to dodge the whipping javelin-type tool, but the woman missed his head by a good foot, let out a sharp yelp of pain and stumbled backwards, landing on the creaking divan with her back.
“Shit,” Sirio croaked and moved to help the squealing woman ravaged by another contraction. This came too-soon.
“RHYS!” The moaning woman roared, despite the agony of her apparent imminent labor. “THERE’S SOMEONE HERE!”
“Don’t worry,” Sirio said trying not to sound like a creepy murderer.
She’s an assassin’s paramour. Probably doesn’t mind killers, the historian offered a counter to himself as he approached, bumping hard on the table in his haste and sending the oil vial clattering on the granite tiles.
Fine. A sneaky rapist?
“What?” A rough hoarse male voice was heard from another room. “I’m cutting the blasted bacon!”
“IT’S COMING!” The woman squealed a part panicked, a part angry and the other in terrible pain just as Sirio arrived over her. She opened her narrow eyes, and hissed like a trapped beast upon seeing the bespectacled Sirio’s nervy grin.
“I’m here to help you,” Sirio assured her and got elbowed in the cheek the next moment, head snapping back and his glasses parking on his forehead. Sirio groaned and went to lower his glasses with a hand, the other grabbing the woman’s sweaty neck to push her back on the divan.
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“No, it’s not!” The unknown male growled sounding angry for no reason. “Haven’t finished it yet, woman! Wild pigs are a bitch to prepare! Wait… She’s what? Who?” The man barked to someone else sounding bewildered.
“RHYS! MOVE YOUR ARSE!” The woman cried out and punched, then kneed a yelping Sirio to get him off of her. Sirio fought back sort off, trying to protect himself from the rapid blows. His lip split open from the woman’s rather calloused knuckle, one of his spastic dodges slapping a heavy tit that sprayed milk in his face, and then rolled aside when his arm was caught in a nasty wrestling grip by the strong and exceptionally wild woman.
Good grief she’s gone mad!
She pushed him off and then forced to the ground still maintaining the grip on his arm, but as she stood up herself on shaking legs, her right foot slipped on the spilled oil and with a yelp of horror the pregnant woman went down on her arse before the divan, banging her head on the edge.
“Oh, gods… the pain,” a staggered Sirio mumbled trying to catch her fall and failing. “Are you alright?” He croaked.
“Fucking… creep,” the dazed woman cursed in between violent spasms.
It wasn’t the oil so much, Sirio realized, her water just broke. Botherations!
“RHYS!” The clearly in labor Cofol woman screamed.
“Calm down,” Sirio urged the flushed, hurting and now very-weakened woman, pushing himself upright with difficulty. Tasting blood in his mouth, he reached to help her on the divan, placing both hands under her armpits.
Sirio let out a half-manly half-feline grunt as he heaved the slippery in sweat, oil and vaginal fluids female to place her on the divan. She was too heavy for him and he could feel her belly quivering with the quickening contractions.
“Just stay still,” Sirio hissed in her drenched and flushed face and the rough voice roared sounding much closer.
“Are you serious?”
The next moment Sirio felt a large hand grabbing his shoulder, strong fingers digging in the flesh right at the joint -all but paralyzing the muscles, and then the historian was violently shoved back. His calves hit the table, Sirio fell back on it with a bang and then slid over the surface to land on his neck alike a hapless market crab, arms and legs kicking wildly at the air.
It was a small drop thankfully.
“Ouch… gaah!” Sirio mumbled and tried to roll on the tiles to stand up, the woman’s hoarse screams ringing inside the semi-dark hall.
“THE BABY… RHYS…!”
Shit, Sirio thought as he was heaved upwards by the same hand and came face to face with a strong-jawed man, sporting a beast’s mouth.
The large and very sharp inhuman pairs of fangs made out of pure gold.
“You’ll rape a pregnant woman? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?” Rhys barked, sending saliva, pieces of raw bacon and onion on Sirio’s foggy glasses and sweaty face. Sirio gasped trying not to piss himself as the man wearing a used loincloth dangled him like a ragdoll, his sandaled feet inches from the ground. The desperately scared and mildly aroused historian, placed both hands on a hairy chiseled chest in order to stop the furiously growling Rhys from biting his face off and let out an embarrassed groan of his own.
This is a catastrophe!
“Dude…” Rhys rustled feeling Sirio’s hands fondling his well-defined muscles in a non-threatening manner. “…what is this weird shite?”
“Apologies,” Sirio mumbled desperately, when Rhys let go of him and stumbled back. “I’ve a fondness for the male form—”
Fuck. Don't tell him that! He admonished himself.
“RHYS!” Selussa shrieked.
“Not another word,” Rhys had cut him off either way. “How many of you catamites are out there? Fuck’s sake! Do you fancy donning women’s garments too?”
Eh?
“HELP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU IDIOT? I’M RIGHT HERE!”
“No, I don’t. You are describing a cross—”
“Oras Hells! You’re the professor!” Rhys stopped him again mid-sentence, with a desperate glance at the puffing out woman, struggling to keep her bloody legs open on the divan. Fluids and blood leaked on the floor and Sirio could see her womb had doubled in size at least, turning a fiery red and glistering color. “Stop yelling woman! You make me nervous! Damn it, I don’t know what to do here!” The assassin admitted and glared at Sirio for help.
“Maja recently had a baby. So I know the symptoms. I was right there,” a heavy-breathing, very flushed Sirio mumbled. “Your girlfriend—”
“Selussa. Have the decency to know thy victims you sick pervert!”
“Please sir that’s not… She’s in labor,” Sirio croaked.
“No shit! Hey, I tell you what, oily fucking cunt! I’m willing to forgive you!” Rhys barked, sounding angry even when he attempted to be diplomatic and then grabbed Sirio’s shoulder again with those steely fingers, making a last ditch effort to smile in a consoling manner. It wasn’t… in any way uplifting that is, but still the fierce man’s words rang true. “Got to help her doc. Atone.”
“Ah,” Sirio gasped in agony and tried to dislodge Rhys’ fingers from his shoulder. He failed and the assassin forcefully guided him near the shuddering Selussa again. “I can’t… please. I’m a just a historian… not a Dottore!”
“Listen up, ye cowardly cretin,” Rhys rustled in his ear, pressing his sweaty body on his. Stop, Sirio urged himself, feeling weirdly confused. “You owe me big for still breathing, so see to help the lass out here. Yeah? If you fail and something nasty happens to her… I’ll split you in two bloody pieces with my hands, mate, starting at yer scrotum!”
Gods in heaven!
“PULL IT OUT! ARGH! YOU SON OF A DEAF DOG!” The miserable Selussa screamed hoarsely at the top of her lungs, the whole scene inside the shadowy hall nightmarish.
A pale Sirio swallowed hard and then bent down between the spread legs of the Cofol woman, where something hairy and truly gruesome was already emerging from the blood-soaked, fleshy folds of her engorged womb. The pale Sirio inhaled deeply, instantly regretting it as a spray of blood and urine splattered onto his neck. With a feeble groan, the historian lost consciousness and rolled backward, landing under the table without cracking his head open, purely by chance.
Probably the cackling Luthos throwing him a lifeline.
A baby wailed something fierce.
The world span around him as he came about. The walls and the ceiling. Lights and shadows dancing. Screams, plenty of pleading and curses. Foul taste in his mouth, bad blood and piss soaking his tunic.
Eyelids or glasses foggy and his body heavy.
The words reaching him making no sense, until they did.
“Cut the umbilical!” Griet barked.
“Now what? I can’t stop the bleeding! Grab a coal from the fireplace!” Rhys roared back, the sound of something kicked away following.
“Leave the baby! Back away, or I’ll knife you in the spleen!” Griet again and Sirio puked in his mouth, the vomit pooling in his throat almost drowning him.
“Make another knot to be sure fer fuck’s sake!” Rhys growled irate. “That’s my kid, ye cheap cunt!”
“Fuck you! One is enough!”
“Are you serious? You mouth back at me?”
“Arghl…” Sirio coughed violently, gurgling up the blood and vomit as he’d managed to roll to the side.
“Here, you can check whether it’s a girl, chief,” Griet was heard again and Sirio blinked reaching for his stained glasses, grabbing his nose at first afore finding them with a muffled groan. “DON’T USE THE FINGER! Oras Hells!”
“I wasn’t!” Rhys barked back sounding affronted. “Mind yer own business! You want a kid of yer own, grow a cock!”
“Eh,” Sirio croaked, trying to clean his glasses and stand up, but realized he couldn’t.
“What did you do to Sirio? Stupid brute!” Griet snapped angrily and the dazed, hurting historian smiled in her general direction reassuringly.
“I’m fine, Griet. It was a misunderstanding.”
“You’re bleeding! Rhys, bring the baby here and check on him. Get your hand out of her mouth for all that’s holy!” Griet shrieked. “You don’t silence a baby like that!”
“Hey. Shut yer mouth! I give orders around here!” Rhys rustled warningly and walked near Sirio. He paused two strides in and turned around to leave the bloody little creature to the divan, where Griet cleaned up Selussa’s pale face with a stained towel.
“What’s wrong with him?” The covered in gore and looking tired Griet asked, managing to soothe the baby in one arm, continue tending to Selussa with the other. “Maja will have a fit if something happens to this idiot!”
“I caught him assaulting Selussa! Why, this unassuming cretin was all over her!” Rhys barked and grabbed Sirio by the throat to lift him up. Sirio punched the assassin weakly in the stomach, but Rhys took it without a sound and smirked at him.
“The man with the gold teeth,” Sirio mumbled.
“That’s right!” Rhys grunted and let go of his neck, only for Sirio to drop to his knees immediately, which forced the bare-chested assassin to stoop to pick him back up again. “What’s the matter with you? Hey!” Rhys screamed in his face. “Are you pretending at weakness to avoid getting beat up?”
It’s a defense mechanism?
“Sirio, is not dominant like that,” Griet intervened and Sirio looked at her hurt.
“What the all-hells does that even mean?” Rhys barked, sounding troubled.
“Please,” Sirio implored, half-sniffling, hoping to prevent Griet from prying further into his personal affairs. “I was merely trying to assist her.”
“I believe that to be true. He came here specifically to see you, Chief,” Griet elaborated, causing Rhys to grimace before loosening his hold on the historian to see whether Sirio could support himself or not.
Sirio could… barely.
“Is that so?” Rhys grunted, collecting the excess moisture from his hairy chest with a palm and then wiping it on his loincloth. “Keep your eyes up, mate!” the assassin snapped, then leered intensely as if to erase everything that had transpired until that moment so they could start anew. “What about?” Rhys inquired next, his typically loud tone now conciliatory.
Rhys poured the rest of the water over his head and reached with a hand towards Sirio who stopped talking with a yelp, but the assassin’s arm brushed past him to grab a towel from a chair. Rhys wiped his head and body from the water and then offered the towel to Sirio. “Clean yer face up, Doc. I’ve seen mongrels looking better than you do. Did ye land in a pool of shit or what?”
Yes, because you threw me between yer girlfriend’s legs!
Seeing the gory baby coming out from Selussa had been traumatic for Sirio.
“Historian,” Sirio corrected him unwilling to remember this part and took the soaked, now dirty towel with a frown. “As I was saying—”
“Heard you the first time,” Rhys cut him off. “I need the Alchemist’s Stone too, lad. It’s more than a finger up the arse I’m afraid fer you, far as your mission. It’s the whole mother-fucking clenched fist!”
The metaphor equally parts disgusting, horrifying and shamefully erotic.
“The Governor needs it more,” Sirio insisted and added. “He’s willing to pay for it.”
“Um. Did Luikens agree to help you?” Rhys murmured as they left the stables and walked back inside the villa from the east entrance. They paused in the kitchen, where a wild pig was hanged from a meat hook to drain its blood. Large cuts on the skinned pig’s front legs were visible and on the butcher’s table Rhys had already prepared several good slices, whilst keeping some of the fat for cooking.
“He did.”
“Expect him to lie,” Rhys said and reached for a bloody cleaver. “I need the stone to fix a personal matter.”
“What matter?” Sirio probed and flinched when Rhys downed the cleaver to chop off half a kilo of bloody meat in two smaller pieces.
Rhys paused immediately after and stared at a point slightly off of Sirio, who turned to see whether someone was there, but saw no one. The moment dragged, the assassin’s eyes watching something only he could see and nodding from time to time listening to voices in his head.
Oh, my god. He’s utterly insane, Sirio realized and Rhys grimaced, but said nothing.
“Mister Rhys,” Sirio started to get his attention and Rhys looked at him in a weird manner, meat cleaver still in hand. “I could come back another time—”
“There’s a dead Alafern right next to you,” Rhys stopped him midsentence.
Sirio gulped down. “An apparition… or you speak metaphorically?”
“Have no clue what you just said. She just put her index fingers into yer ears. She has long-arse fingers, so they went deep!” Rhys spat and stabbed the cleaver on the table’s gory surface.
“Mister Rhys,” Sirio mumbled with a shiver, the whole ordeal draining him of courage. “Let’s call it a day. We all did the best we could. At least you now have a daughter out of all this. I’ll report to the Governor, the stone is lost.”
“It isn’t lost,” Rhys retorted and walked to the hangers where his clothes had been left. He searched his satchel and got a heavy lead metal box out. Not bigger than his fist. Rhys carried it back at a clean corner of the butcher’s table, and place it there. With a grimace, he carefully deposited what looked like a small gold digit on the lid of the box. “This is a finger bone,” the assassin elucidated. “With a bit of gold on it.”
Right.
“A finger bone,” Sirio mumbled and approached to look it up close.
“From an Alafern. You got to destroy or bury their body parts apart. Keep them afar from blood,” Rhys expounded and grimaced as if annoyed. “A female Alafern!” He roared and Sirio recoiled so violently he all but went down from the startle. He didn’t because Rhys had snatched him by the shoulder again to prevent his fall.
“It hurts,” Sirio hissed and Rhys’ fingers released him. “Thank you.”
“If Luikens finishes the job, the finger will become a phylactery,” Rhys said after a while. Sirio had trouble following his meaning. “I’ll keep the gold finger and you can have the stone. I’ve another that can fetch coin much sooner and safer.”
“I can have the stone,” Sirio murmured hopefully. “Take it and leave?”
“You want to stay for dinner?” Rhys queried furrowing his brows. Then flashed him a sinister gold-toothed leer. “We’re having bacon! Well, Zestari-Ona will suck on yer mother’s tit, I guess. Doesn’t have the teeth for meat!”
Obviously.
“You named her already?” Sirio asked politely.
“Don’t be a fool. Selussa takes care of these matters, so Rhys can sleep peacefully! Trust me, women with knives are dangerous!” Rhys grunted, getting all worked up again in no time. Surprisingly though, he calmed down after his brief outburst and asked in a calmer manner. “So… you rather have steaks or what?”
“I rather leave,” Sirio mumbled and stared at the lead box with the small broken finger bone over it.
“Um.” Rhys agreed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Can I ask one more question?”
“Bekare says that you shouldn’t,” Rhys retorted abruptly. “But go ahead, mate.”
Who’s Bekare?
“How long did you work with my wife?”
“Maja didn’t tell you?”
“She doesn’t know I’m here,” Sirio admitted.
“Yer a brave man, Sirio. Either too thick-skinned or whatever the other thing is,” Rhys continued with a nod. “I took over after Maja quit. We didn’t work together at all.”
“Maja led the Guild before you?” Sirio asked narrowing his eyes, not expecting it.
“It’s how it goes, mate. Otherwise you can’t take over shit. Well, you can… but killing is involved. Aye.”
“For how long?”
“Ahm. Thirty years? A bit more surely,” Rhys reminisced. “She was there when I joined…. Yeah. Larn knows the dates better. And Zizel, madam Verano. She stays at the guesthouse,” Rhys informed him. “Her arthritis flared up and the climate here helps the old girl.”
Sirio stood back, trying to wrap his mind around this revelation. “Maja couldn’t have… she looks younger than you.”
“Hey! Watch it… Anyways, it’s the Zilan pendant Larn gave her. Healed her or something. Who cares! Ah… ye do apparently,” Rhys elucidated pursing his mouth in the attempt to be more diplomatic upon seeing Sirio’s shocked reaction. “Didn’t expect it to work out on all… ehm…things, but hey, good on you! What’s yer girl’s name?”
“Bianca. Wait a minute… this would make Maja well-over forty… fifty?” Sirio croaked and pressed a hand on his hurting head, upon witnessing the assassin agreeing with his calculations. “How can a daughter be older than her own father? That’s utterly insane!”
Rhys smacked his lips after he listened to his query intently. With the briefest of pauses he replied matter-of-factly, in his casually direct, very-manly… manner.
“It can’t, mate. They just lied.”
-
Moon’s Haven,
Four days later,
Nattas Manor,
Rear garden (North Side)
“There she is,” the Governor grunted tapping Bianca’s small, wrapped up head with a hand. “There’s a blond Lorian beauty, eh?” Lord Nattas told Silvio, who had brought the baby girl to him.
“She’s Bianca,” Silvio informed his frowning father austerely.
“Yep. We got it Silvio,” Nattas said with a glance at the smiling Queen Regent. “Lovely girl. Our granddaughter.”
“She’s of a form,” Miranda agreed with a regal nod towards the nervous Maja, who didn’t like the Governor handling their daughter. Bianca started crying from getting passed over by so many different people and Silvio stepped in to return her to the now relieved Maja.
“I’ll need to hire a local milk-maid,” Maja explained to the watching Governor and he nodded indifferently. “My milk cut off too-soon because of the difficult pregnancy.”
It was a miracle there was any to begin with, Sirio thought sourly staring to his wife’s blond head.
“Good grief. Nobody wants to hear this part daughter. Just bring someone from Novesium. Plenty of milky teats about!” Nattas said austerely and gestured for Sudi to approach.
“Maja feed Silvio as well,” the chuckling at Natta’s words Miranda ordered, while the two men started talking about the Governor’s soon to be build statue. A large portion of the garden’s west corner facing the back of the Manor was to be flattened, as the architect had suggested marble benches to be installed around the statue in addition to the small fountain.
“I don’t like the sculptor,” Nattas told the tired Sudi, who had just come back from an express journey to the capital. “You told me Di Cresta’s effigy looks like the old man had an aneurysm and it scares the visitors,” the Governor protested. “And you want him working on me?”
“It’s a matter of expression and motion,” Sudi explained. “It’s easier to pull off a thoughtful look, and you are to be seated on a nice throne deep in thought. The sculptor considers his initial drawing and pose very dignified.”
“Mmm,” Nattas murmured, and glanced towards the silent Sirio. “People seat on latrines, never heard the term dignified afore. I guess, I could start using it more when I take a fucking shit!”
“Lord Nattas,” Miranda scolded the Governor and Nattas smiled afore bowing his head.
“Apologies, your grace. Next time, I’ll dress up the turds better and avoid insulting epithets!”
Miranda chuckled. “He’s so vile and provincially witty! Is that right, Mister Veturius?”
“Scatological humor, is all the rage in the capital, your grace,” Sirio deadpanned and Miranda’s Alden-blue eyes opened up at his turn of phrase.
“Our historian has quite the panache hidden in him,” Miranda commented. “You don’t have the Consul’s stiff character, Mister Veturius. It is a surprise to us.”
“Different paths, your grace. The same unwavering loyalty to yer family,” Sirio replied steadily, keeping it respectful and the sober Miranda agreed with a nod.
“In a week, we shall depart for Aegium,” she informed the quiet Governor, who had been observing Sirio closely the entire time.
“That’s a lot of days,” a stern Sudi intervened, which forced Nattas to deal with the matter, before it turned into an argument.
“Everything is set. The ship shall remain in Novesium for repairs to cover the Queen’s delay,” Nattas reassured his right hand man, before he turned to the Queen Regent to offer her a warm smile. “Just don’t anticipate the Aegium you recall under Sula. They say his northern wife is in charge of policy.”
“Never troubled ourselves with the North, dear Governor, but we can handle this Sula just fine,” Miranda scolded Lord Nattas, who had a caustic response prepared to drop without losing one beat.
“Better you than me, your grace.”
Lord Nattas stood up using his cane the moment the Queen departed after Sir Barnard -who she had just called outside, but the governor stood silent for a thoughtful moment before finally speaking.
“Sirio, stay for a bit longer,” the Governor ordered and turned to stare at Sudi, who rested his back against a Lorian column. “Damn it. A thirsty man discovers a carafe of water in the plaguing desert and you snatch it right off of his boiled hand?” Storm Nattas told the grimacing half-breed. “E tu Laudus?” He taunted using the infamous traitor’s name.
“Ease on the drama. A week is too long,” Sudi repeated his earlier argument.
“I’ve an excuse with Luikens here,” Nattas argued.
“She doesn’t. It is too soon, chief, and Sula might check with the port authorities, if her ship is late. Our people are loyal and well-coached, but if a famous Legatus turned Governor comes calling,” Sudi paused and glanced towards Sirio afore adding. “People might sing a different tune.”
Nattas breathed out slowly, then limped near a marble column-type stand decorated with coiling kraken tentacles up its support base and the abacus, in order to pour himself a goblet of wine. Then he hissed angrily and slammed the bottle on the stand. “Everyone is a blasted singer these days! I know it’s early, but the vibes in this garden are fucking weird and messed up my stomach!”
“A missive for Centurion Sorex reached Storm’s Rest,” Sudi rustled, looking at Sirio who was looking back at him. The Historian blinked, not expecting to hear the name.
“What did the missive say?” Nattas asked calmly, whilst twirling the wine in his goblet.
“Just a letter. A capital S.”
“Secundus?” Sirio mumbled remembering the King’s questions and the missing for many years mercenary. Lord Nattas turned his attention on him a little surprised.
“You looked into it, yes?” the Governor noted matter-of-factly.
“I did. Then the Luikens matter emerged and I had to deal with that,” Sudi grunted, with another suspicious stare at the sober Sirio Veturius. Sirio was in a certain mood for days now and the ‘Socius Principalis’ was wary of the historian, since the moment the latter had informed them Luikens wanted Sudi murdered. “I received a reply today from Kadrek.”
“He went north,” Nattas commented, a little amused. “To Badum, then across Canlita Sea to that duplicitous villain, Lord Van Calcar. Caught a caravan to Yepehir after that in order to reach Kadrek.”
“A man with his description boarded a ship for Lastport,” Sudi reported. “Secundus was always heading to Lesia, but knew not to head there directly.”
“Was Marcela with him?” Nattas asked casually and Sirio narrowed his eyes, then gulped down when the Governor looked his way, mouth forming a small smirk.
“He was alone.”
“Any other passengers of note, aboard the ship?” Nattas queried.
“Two women, probably northern, and a kid,” Sudi replied and the Governor nodded. “They stayed in different cabins.”
“We don’t have anyone in Lastport,” the Governor rustled.
“Mayhap, he’s looking to start over,” Sudi offered.
“Why write his brother then?” Nattas countered. “Nah. He’s looking for a direct line to the king. Sever the line, Lotus. Hire local. The next missive we might not catch.”
Sudi nodded and stood upright, a similar cane planting on the marble tiles as he did. “Lastport is too far away, chief, and a missive can be altered or destroyed after the fact, along all those that have read it.”
“I rather, it don’t come to that. Because we might find ourselves bringing a knife into a proper swordfight! Enter arse-first into a room full of gigantic phalluses!” Nattas grunted –ever eloquently, and made a grimace of frustration. “Go. Take Bryce with you. Avoid the camp so Luikens doesn’t spot you. Captain Moore leaves him for an hour each day out in the darn sun, alike a fucking mushroom!”
“I had to bribe Numerius Baro in order to pacify his needy bride. A female Dottore my arse! She’s in it for the coin! Fucking paid for her non-existent dowry for crying out loud! Squeezed dry by Abrakas tentacles!” The frustrated Governor told Sirio when they were left alone in the garden. “Come here, loyal son-in-law. Let me show you, where the statue will go.”
Sirio walked after Lord Nattas to the corner of the Manor through the garden. “The sculptor wants it to stand taller than the building itself, but I stopped him,” the Governor explained as they stood over the flattened and cleared out terrain. “They’ll place a fountain next to it, right there. Uhm. A bench and not a throne, and on it the sitting in rest and contemplation effigy of yours truly. Yeah. Proper Lorian gratification. Be that as it may, I don’t need people to see me from the docks or the street as they approach. I’m not Ebenezer Framtond, Sirio. Those living in this humble house though, could visit ole Nattas after I’m gone. With my excellent health, it would be many-many years from now.”
“This is for Silvio,” the historian noted and Nattas gave a nod of agreement.
“An avaricious Nattas with a blasted launching pad under foot. A strong base to start from,” the Governor murmured gazing at the empty spot where the large statue of himself would go. “He’ll take over the realm from friends and foes. Grab them bastards by the balls, then fuck their women as the Horselords say, eh?”
“That’s not what they are saying. Rejoice in their women’s lament, is much-closer in meaning,” Sirio noted and Nattas glanced his way annoyed.
“Ah, you of course would know better, than us less-cultivated folk,” the Governor agreed mockingly, pursing his mouth.
“I thought Secundus had been killed the day you got arrested,” Sirio said and Nattas sucked on his teeth, his face distorting. “Why do you want him dead?”
“You fashion a fancy garment to fake your way into an upper class party,” Nattas murmured, and emptied his goblet on the ground with one hand, the other grasping the pommel of his planted cane. “It is a good imitation, passable, yet hastily made. It has holes in it. They can weaken the fabric unless patched, force it to come undone and leave ye naked. Vulnerable,” Nattas paused to glance in Sirio’s sober face. “Vulnerable people don’t last long in this realm. You know that, Sirio.”
“It is why assassins are needed,” Sirio murmured and the Governor stood back furrowing his brows.
“Here’s that young man again. Living inside a library, sleeping next to rotting manuscripts, yet too prideful and so certain of his superior intellect, he questioned a King’s judgement. Most people grow or devolve, Sirio. You just rolled back to what you where before. You even did it with the Queen Regent!”
“I’m not the same man,” Sirio argued clenching his jaw. “You told me we fight for the greater good.”
“Ah. Was that a lie? Did we not change the realm for the better, Sirio?”
“Better for yourself,” Sirio retorted and the Governor’s face hardened.
“What did Rhys say?” Nattas hissed warningly. “You think I didn’t notice your sour face? Walking about alike a dry cunt bereft of cock for too fucking long!”
“What business needs the assassin’s guild as a friend?”
“ALL BUSINESSES!” Nattas roared wildly, and Sirio took a step back scared at his outburst.
“You sold bequeathed royal land to him,” Sirio croaked. “We have the Silent Servant’s headquarters in our darn backyard! Why?”
“And the King’s people said that’s fine! How about that? Eh? Maybe Rhys helped the King out! Open your fucking eyes and think!” Nattas shot back, through his teeth. “What’s your problem anyway, man of letters? You pretend thou are holier than ole Storm Nattas? Is that it?”
“Rhys runs the whole guild. All residents are killers beyond that bridge!” Sirio snapped back and Nattas whipped his cane to smack his head, but the historian dodged it stepping back.
“Lower your god-damn voice! What is this? Cartagen’s forum? Blasted fool, opens his cock-sucking mouth to judge people and situations he can’t understand!” The Governor growled suddenly furious. “Ungrateful, little prick. You elevated yourself alongside me! Didn’t you?” He glared at the shaking Sirio intensely. “Married yourself into a mighty governor’s family, smugly lecturing at the Academy and speaking with the King of blasted Regia! Does Lucius know how depraved you are? Your own uncle even? Fucking freak!”
“Does Lucius know what you did? Who you are?” A flushed Sirio shot back and Nattas took a deep breath, then asked sternly.
“What did that lunatic Rhys say? He gave you the stone. Why?” He asked and Sirio clenched his jaw, trying not to burst into tears.
“I believed you,” he croaked and the Governor grimaced in exasperation. “Rhys took over from Maja.”
“So what?” Nattas grunted, narrowing his eyes.
“Your daughter was the Guild’s leader since before I was born! You lied!” Sirio screamed hysterically and it turned into a yelp when Nattas moved against him faster than it seemed possible. The historian stumbled back and barely escaped the advancing governor.
“So what?” Nattas repeated hoarsely, and breathing heavy he came to a stop to glance about them for any onlookers. Then he stared at the shaking Sirio and shook his head tiredly. “She is what it is. And she’s not what the papers say. Do you know, in this world, what matters? For it is not the truth. It is whatever people believe to be true. Get it?”
Sirio closed his eyes and then stared in Nattas’ face soberly. “You sold me a lie. I’m writing a whole darn chapter to exonerate your actions!”
“Write whatever you want. It will never see the light of day.”
“The King read the draft!”
“Oh, good god. You are pathetic. Write about the King then. Lucius loves a good read!”
“No more lies!”
“You loved that lie! You crave recognition more than a toothless harlot craves cock!” Lord Nattas shot back with a hiss. “You also like her as much as all other vices you are guilty of, and for some god-darn unexplained reason she likes you back. Maybe broken things do that. Nature provides, or something I don’t really care about! What does it matter?”
“I want Bianca’s future secured,” Sirio grunted sternly.
“The girl is a Nattas. Stop being a fool, we are family.”
“She’s a Veturius. Not a drop of your blood in my little girl,” Sirio retorted. “I want her inheritance set in stone. The marriage contract reversed.”
“You little leech,” Nattas hissed and puffed out. “She’ll get, what she’ll get. I don’t care about the marriage. I have Silvio.”
“Give Turtle Isles to Bianca. Silvio can have all else.”
“Are you out of your god darn mind?” Nattas snapped and then stood back to gaze in Sirio’s sweaty face. The determined eyes behind the foggy glasses. “Two half-blind paper-pushers with actual balls in the same fucking month,” the governor murmured, sounding surprised. “Who would’ve thought? Then again, there’s an actual lunatic riding a plaguing wyvern over at Goras. The realm is full of mysteries. Fuck it. Fine. A third of the share. Given her mother’s genes and yer brains, she might turn the family a killer profit! Hah!”
“Two-thirds. She’ll have the title.”
“There’s no title, just poor land and the votes for Aedile,” Nattas grunted and grimaced thinking about it. “Anything else?”
“What do you have on Maja?” Sirio asked and this time Nattas raised his brows impressed. “Whatever it is, you need to let her go. She’s my wife.”
“Praised be the Vilest of Gods,” Lord Nattas said and smacked his lips. “You are a strange man, Sirio Veturius. This was yer chance to kick her out, yet you seek to protect her. I fucking respect this, aye.” The Governor grimaced thinking about it. “Having said that, you can’t release Maja from her bonds. The contract was made with the big guy for personal safety reasons that trump yours. Also Guild policy and all.”
“Who’s the big guy?” Sirio asked, now perturbed.
“You didn’t actually believe Maja or that nutty rascal Rhys, actually control the Guild, did you?” Nattas chuckled seeing his expression. “What did you promise him, in exchange for the Alchemist’s Stone?”
Sirio licked his dry lips. “He wanted a bone turned to gold, or something close to it.”
“Why?” Nattas queried, back in business mode. “Didn’t have a hefty piece of iron around? That place is a blooming warehouse and not a fucking villa!”
“Nothing hefty about it. It’s a darn finger bone and something about an Alafern,” Sirio murmured, knowing this sounded ridiculous, but the Governor –cane planted in the ground- stooped over his folded and resting on it arms, in thoughtful silence.
“The 3rd Legion is sending its engineers here,” Lord Nattas finally rustled, staring at the flattened spot, where the statue was to be placed. “Lucius has figured something out. When the Legions move, you’ll know it’s serious.”
“What do you mean?” A shaking Sirio asked, still reeling from the confrontation.
-
An hour later.
“Shush,” Maja told their tiny daughter, soaking her tender skin with rosewater, under Sirio’s intense scrutiny. “Silence is a girl’s best friend, Bianca. Be lively inside, but muffle your screams to the world.” The little girl cooed under her mother’s ministrations and soothing voice. “Goat milk makes her tummy ache,” Maja explained, when Sirio approached them. “Apologies. The milk maid shall arrive tomorrow.”
He placed both hands on the woman’s bare shoulders, his fingers tracing the strained muscles under the thin skin, until they touched the heavy silver chain of the hefty and exotic pendant hanging from her neck and hidden under her blond hair.
“What did Nattas say?” Maja whispered, freezing up as she felt his touch lingering.
“Lucius has a secret advisor is the palace gossip,” Sirio murmured. “Zilan attacked Cediorum, but nobody appears to do anything about it. The Nord Queen is with him, but the Holt girl is still secluded inside the palace in Cartagen. Queen Elsanne’s siege is going poorly and Luikens is cooperating.”
“About me,” Maja murmured.
“Rhys told me more,” Sirio said and felt her tensing up.
“Sirio,” Maja whispered.
“What happens if it comes off?” Sirio asked still holding the pendant and Maja’s right hand reached to cup his hand.
“You don’t want it to come off, husband.”
“I want to see you,” Sirio whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t care.”
Maja turned on her stool to stare in his hurting face. “I fear you shall and you’ll move away from us. Don’t do this to me. Not now. It is the only good thing I have. This. Us.”
“No more lies,” Sirio told her hoarsely, his eyes tearing up and she squeezed his hand tightly, looking equally moved. Even grateful.
You get, what you get in this realm. Aye, and then it’s yours.
And you don’t want to give it up.
Nattas was right.
“No more lies,” Maja whispered.
Sirio nodded, then asked her casually. “What was the contract?”
“Preserve Nattas’ bloodline,” Maja murmured and stood up to go near the window facing the gardens. She stared down through the drawn drapes in sobering silence. “The bastard talked to Larn about it. Nattas doesn’t care about revenge, only garnering more advantage. It’s his modus operandi. Controlling people and the narrative. Gains fierce loyalty through fear, blackmail, even pity or remorse. He’ll use anything, even a son’s love for his late mother. It doesn’t matter. So he made a deal with the devil to prevent me from taking him out. I can still move against the Governor if you want me, but eventually… down the line, no matter how much time has gone by, Larn shall return,” Maja whispered, her hands shaking. “Even if the governor or everyone else… even if we’re dead, he’ll come to balance the scales and close the contract. Oras deals are forever. He’ll try to mend the hole. You don’t want Larn anywhere near our daughter, husband. He’ll take her with him. Larn or his creatures. We must keep her away from this life, even if we lose the perks coming with it.”
We won’t have to, a determined Sirio thought. I’ll make certain of it and even if I finish the book, Nattas’ chapter will never see the light of day.
“Is Rhys one of them?” A serious Sirio asked, and approached to console her.
“Selussa is,” Maja gasped, feeling his arms around her waist. She pushed back on his chest shaking instead of fighting back, as if to retreat towards the safety of his embrace. “You shouldn’t have gone there. Some of realm’s mysteries are better left a mystery, sweet husband. If you look into the darkness for too long, the darkness might stare back at you.”
I opened the door, Sirio thought. And stepped into the assassins’ lair.
-
Later that same night.
A tired Sirio blinked, his eyes hurting under the light of Luikens’ Thermolampe he had taken to study initially, but ended up using to assist his nightly writing sessions. The historian glanced at the peacefully sleeping Maja. The woman had a hand touching Bianca’s tiny cradle placed on the bed next to her, a protecting gesture, laced with fear.
Sirio sighed, then examined the tightly scribbled scrolls in front of him. Expensive vellums bought with the Governor’s endless coin, and not Tullus’ novel flimsy paper. He read what he’d written once more and shook his head.
Perhaps it is too much, the drained historian thought. Overcompensating to cover your own frustration, but damn it, you need this.
At the end of the day, Sirio thought, returning the quill inside the inkpot and standing up, careful not to rouse his sleeping wife and daughter.
In this chapter, no untruths were written.
For the most part.
-
Despite his talented and popular brother already being declared for the event, and undoubtedly King Alistair’s late push for a play on Kaltha’s throne by his older son, Lucius could have opted out of the Princess’ Tourney without any personal cost. Alistair knew it and the Tiger had never shown any favor towards the Issir Princess anyways. Lucius needed no more gravitas bestowed upon him. Whatever his strict father may have said to persuade the young heir at the time, Lucius never disclosed publicly. While many have attempted to analyze the Tiger’s persona in the years that followed, they often find themselves perplexed at this juncture; right at the start of the saga.
What they are missing is that the true answer was frequently articulated by the King himself.
Through his actions.
Because some heroes in our tales don’t have a slightly different private -secreted from the public, or even more-loathsome veiled character than they present. They stand as a beacon of truth and gallantry above everyone else. In this case, people know it instinctively upon seeing him from afar or up close –if they ever stand so fortunate, for he is the real deal. Our noble knight in shining armor, a true pragmatic and industrious Lorian of old and the mighty Caesar of our myths returned to rebuild the army. Some characters need not propping up, or the help of fancy words by talentless authors.
Need not fake deeds, or any feats manufactured in order to bolster their gravitas further. No statues, or even stories like this. Even in defeat, they stand out more than the winners and you instinctively know that in the end history shall justly reward or at the very least never forget them. In this realm, or any other. In human or in all other creatures’ minds, their name shall be remembered.
Some heroes are like that, aye. Alas, not many. Less than a few, but by all gods, old and new, the King of Greater Regia was one of them.
Lord Sirio Veturius
Circa 206 NC
The Fall of Heroes
(Lord Lucius Alden –sic. Genus Aldenus)
-Also addressed-
Bloody Tiger, Legatus Omnis Legionis, Praetor Maximus, King Lucius the 3rd etc.
Chapter II*
Prologue
*The 2nd Chapter was the biggest chapter in Sirio Veturius manuscript, numbering several tome. Here, the famed Historian’s incredibly lengthy foreword’s final paragraphs.