The Sampler Platter: A Little Bit of Everything

by Susan Skylark

  Chapter 8

  The next day, Tristan and the boy set off together. Turin waited awhile and followed at a distance, hoping to find some trace of the stranger if he gave chase. For three days, they traveled towards Arca with no sight or sign of pursuit. On the third night, it clouded over and neither moon nor stars cast their light. As they sat in the darkness around a cheery fire, a shroud of evil drained all the warmth out of the once bright blaze leaving it a small, pitiable thing. A menacing voice out of nowhere said, “I told you to leave things alone; you should have listened.” The darkness thickened and menace quivered in the air. A chill wind gusted; the fire flickered and died. Darkest night engulfed the camp. Ominous footsteps came one by one, as if some creature far heavier than a man slowly approached. The hissing of its breath sounded heavily in the darkness. Its eyes glowed as if lit by internal flames and it towered above the head of a man. The creature stood before them, a dark shadow with glowing eyes. A voice called triumphantly from its back, “I told you to leave well enough alone. Now you will die…slowly, and then I will take the boy and train him properly.”

  Geff’s horse, having caught scent of the monster, screamed in terror and tried to flee (it is hard to run with hobbles on). Taragon screamed a challenge to the beast and loped into the camp, ready for battle. Tristan flung the boy on the great stallion’s back, “hold on tight. If things go ill here, you must ride for all you are worth.”

  The evil man laughed, “no mere horse can outrun my pet. I will have the boy eventually, but first I will deal with you.” Tristan bared his sword and prepared for the fight of his life. The creature snarled and leapt towards Tristan, jaws wide and claws ready. Fighting one of the monsters from the back of an angry unicorn was one thing, facing one on foot in the dark was quite another.

  When the beast was nearly upon him, another horse screamed and a startling flash of light momentarily blinded Tristan and he stumbled backward. When he was able to see, he saw Turin astride his unicorn fighting the vile man and his monster. It was an even fight. The thing slashed out with teeth, claws, and whip-like tail; the unicorn fought with hooves, teeth, and horn. Neither rider could do much besides hang on. A familiar crunch, barely audible above the snarling beast and screaming unicorn, came to Tristan’s ear. The monster had had a milky red crystal embedded in its breastplate. That crunch meant the crystal had been crushed and the man would shortly be losing control over his mount, which was now freed from whatever bewitchment had held it in the man’s sway. The thing went wild, threw off its rider, and ran off snarling into the darkness. Turin halted a moment, Tristan motioned him to follow the fell beast and destroy it; he charged into the darkness in close pursuit.

  The fallen man was picking himself up from the ground. “Very nice,” he snarled, “but I can dispose of you even without my pet. This shall be far more satisfying.”

  “Stand down and I will spare your life,” said Tristan.

  “You have no authority over me,” scoffed the man, “I will not surrender. You must kill me or I will kill you.” The miasma of fear thickened around the pair as they closed for battle. Geff looked ready to faint, but the cloud of paranoia had no effect on Tristan. “You are not afraid?” asked the man skeptically.

  “I have nothing to fear from you,” said Tristan calmly. “So be it!” snarled the man as he lunged at Tristan. The man was skilled in the attack, and charged repeatedly, but he rarely bothered to defend himself. One of his blows caught Tristan across the flank and opened up a wide gash along his side; it was a long cut, but not deep. Tristan barely flinched, but continued his attack and dealt a final blow to his attacker before falling to his knees and clutching at his side. The evil man crumpled to the ground, both knew Tristan had dealt a fatal blow. It was only a matter of time, but he laughed through his gasps for breath, “at least I shall see you dead before I succumb to my wound.”

  “It…it …is only a flesh wound,” gasped Tristan.

  “Yes,” laughed the dark man, “but my blade is fatal no matter where it strikes, and you took a great wound not far from the heart. It will not be long.” Painfully, Tristan removed his tunic and stared down at the angry red wound; it throbbed terribly and hurt more than anything he could remember in over a century of such injury. “How does it feel to die without hope?” gasped the man.

  “There..is always…hope…” panted Tristan as he fell to his side and lost consciousness, his breathing slow and erratic.

  “Not long now,” rasped the man with his own failing breath. Taragon, still with Geff on his back, came forward and nuzzled at his fallen master. “Foolish beast! You can do nothing,” wheezed the man. Taragon found the gaping wound and gently began to lick it. Wherever his tongue touched, the redness and swelling retreated, leaving only a healthy wound. Tristan’s breathing normalized and the color returned to his face. “How?” wailed the stricken man, “it cannot be…impossible…” he trailed off, coughed several times and said no more. The man’s body dissolved, leaving only an oily stain on the trampled vegetation.

  “Tristan!” gasped Turin, stepping out of the shadows and rushing to the fallen man’s side.

  He eased Tristan into a sitting position and his friend began to stir, “what?” “You are the first man ever to owe his life to drool,” laughed Turin.

  “Drool?” asked Tristan dazedly.

  “Yes,” said Turin, “the beast drooled all over that nice little wound of yours and all the redness and swelling vanished.”

  Tristan laughed weakly, “Pallin took a similar wound and it was unicorn tears that saved him, I get unicorn spit.” Taragon seemed very pleased with himself.

  Geff finally found his tongue, “how did you catch a unicorn and tame it?” Both men laughed.

  Turin said, “you cannot catch them or tame them. They are thinking creatures just like you and me, sometimes I think they are smarter than we are, at least less reckless. The only way a unicorn will bear a man is if he decides to. They serve us by their own choice.”

  “I would like to ride a unicorn,” laughed the boy.

  “You already are,” laughed Tristan weakly. The boy glanced down at Taragon, who briefly allowed his true form to show through; his white coat gleamed silver in the darkness before resuming a more natural color for a ‘horse.’

  “Amazing!” gasped the boy, “who was that man and what was he riding and why did you almost die but not quite?”

  “That is a lot of questions, but I will do my best,” said Turin. “That man belonged to a group known as the Brotherhood of the Serpent. They are evil men who sell their very souls in exchange for powers dark and terrible. Some of their witchery includes the ability to control the monsters they ride, the ability to put deadly spells upon their weapons, and the ability to produce an aura of fear about themselves. Most men would faint dead away or flee in abject terror in the presence of such fear. Tristan was struck by one of their tainted blades and would have died had not his faithful steed drooled all over him. I knew unicorn tears could drive away evil, but I had no idea their spit was equally powerful.”

  The boy laughed, “now what?”

  “You are going to relight the fire,” said Turin, “and I am going to see to Tristan’s wound.”

  As they went about tending to Tristan the boy asked, “so how come you two are lucky enough to ride unicorns?”

  Tristan smiled, “there is nothing of luck about it. We are both members of the Brethren, and one of the ‘benefits’ of such membership is the friendship of a unicorn. They are very faithful creatures and many of us are still alive because of their services.” He looked wistfully off into the distance, an unbidden tear trickled down his cheek. They cleansed the wound and bandaged it with a soft cloth.

  “You do not seem the type to belong to a nefarious organization intent on taking over the known world and ending all rational thought,” said Geff in surprise. Both the m
en laughed at such a notion.

  “Now that you know who and what we are,” said Tristan, “perhaps you will rethink what you learned at that school of yours. If I had been intent on world domination, would I have bothered risking my life to save yours? Would Turin have bothered to chase down and destroy that vile beast when he could have let it run loose and terrorize innocent folk? You must decide for yourself the truth of the matter. To the best of my knowledge, I have never discouraged you from rational thought, only from acting a fool in front of others. Are we as domineering as your Professors claim we are?”

  The boy laughed, “I cannot trust anything else I have learned at the University, so again I must trust my own experience. But why did you not tell me who you were?”

  “Did you need to know or would your knowing serve any purpose besides distracting you?” asked Tristan.

  “No,” said the boy, “but you are so skilled that I would think you would want everyone to know about it.”

  “What purpose would that serve?” asked Tristan, “I use my skills for the benefit of others, not to accrue glory for myself. In fact, I am expressly prohibited from doing so by my Oath.”

  “I see,” said the boy, “will you tell me more of the Brethren?”

  “Ask whatever you wish,” laughed Tristan at Geff’s unconstrained eagerness.

  “I will answer his questions,” said Turin, “you are going to bed.” In fact, they all went to bed very soon afterwards, but the boy asked very many questions the next day as they traveled.

  Tristan was glad to be considered somewhat of an invalid as it spared him from the boy’s ravenous appetite for information. He must have driven his professors to near distraction with his endless questions! Tristan’s side hurt and he felt rather weak, but otherwise showed no ill-effects from the night’s encounter. They continued towards Arca, as fast as Tristan could manage comfortably. Three days later, Tristan awoke with a slight fever and profound weakness. The wound seemed to be healing normally except for a slightly reddened spot in the middle. They were to reach Arca that day, so he did not wish to bother the others with his concerns. All day, Tristan clung weakly to his saddle and drank far more water than usual. Turin watched him with growing concern, but said nothing. As evening approached, they arrived at the capital city and rode into the main courtyard of the palace. Servants came to fetch their horses, but as the others dismounted, Tristan fell out of his saddle and lay sprawled on the paving stones. Turin ran to his side, he was unconscious and burning with fever. The confused servants watched helplessly.

  Turin motioned for Geff to help lift Tristan. He then asked the nearest servant, “can you take us to Arora or Bristol?” The man shook off his shock, nodded, and motioned for them to follow. They climbed ever higher into the palace until the exhausted pair carrying Tristan could go no further, but they had no need because they had reached their destination. A pair of guards stood at the door and looked at the little parade in confusion, but did not try to stop them as they entered the tiny room. Bristol sat talking quietly with Trap while Arora strummed some pleasant tune on her instrument. All three looked up in surprise as the pair of men entered and lay the unconscious form on Trap’s bed. Arora gasped as she looked at her husband’s grey face, fighting unbidden tears as she rushed to the bed and cradled his head on her lap. “What happened?” gasped Bristol.

  Turin answered, “we ran into one of those Brotherhood characters and Tristan took a flesh wound across his side, but it seemed to be healing well. He has been a bit weak, but we figured it was just his near brush with death when he was injured. Taragon reached him in time.” Carefully Turin drew back Tristan’s tunic and the bandage covering the wound. All gasped when the lesion was revealed. The wound was healing nicely, except for a fist-sized, crimson nodule in the center that sent out angry red tendrils creeping ever closer to his heart.

  “He has a shard from the tainted weapon embedded in the wound,” said Trap quietly, “he will be dead by morning if it is not removed.” In their concern for Tristan everyone had forgotten Trap’s presence.

  “But I thought the unicorn had fixed everything,” said Geff.

  “The evil that came with the initial blow was driven away,” said Trap, “but the blades carried by the servants of the Brotherhood are terrible things. If even the smallest splinter remains, its evil will eventually kill even the strongest of men.” He turned to the waiting servant and said, “bring hot water, clean towels, and a dagger.” The man’s face paled at mention of the dagger, but Arora nodded and he ran from the room. As they waited for the servant to return with the required supplies, Trap watched the four grieved faces staring grimly down at the prone form on the bed. Arora seemed especially distressed. For the first time in remembrance, Trap felt compassion for a fellow creature stir in his heart. The servant returned with the requested supplies. Trap took the dagger and held it in the flame of a candle until is glowed red, and then dipped it in the water until it quit hissing. Very gently, he cleansed the reddened area and patted it dry. He took the dagger and cut a small hole in the top of the nodule. The fetid odor of death filled the room as a small amount of ashen grey pus seeped from the hole. Trap widened his incision and allowed more of the pus to drain out. He carefully wiped away the effusion and tenderly probed the wound, producing a small sliver of black metal. He finished exploring the lesion and then cleansed it thoroughly, and then dressed and bandaged the wound. “He should recover fully,” said Trap quietly.

  Tristan’s color was already improving and he was no longer hot to the touch. “Thank you,” said Arora softly.

  As night fell, Tristan stirred. He looked up into the gentle face of his wife, “am I dead?”

  “Not quite yet,” she smiled softly, “though at this rate it will not be long.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “You had a splinter of that awful sword buried in your wound,” said Arora, “Trap dug it out.”

  “Trap?” gasped Tristan.

  “He saved your life,” said Arora. She gave him a cup of water and he retreated into sleep.

  It was nearly a week before he was strong enough to leave Trap’s room, but once he began to recover he did so with abandon. During his convalescence, he had frequent visits from Bristol, Geff, and Turin (Arora hardly left his side). Trap, who had been relocated across the hall, was allowed to accompany Bristol on his visits. Tristan noticed a remarkable change in the man; he was no longer the cold, unfeeling man he had been at their parting nor was he the broken shell of a man that Bristol and Arora had come to know. Instead, he seemed to enjoy even the most mundane tasks and boring conversations, and he actually smiled on occasion. He had found his humanity at last.

  There was much discussion as to their next course of action, but all agreed that Trap must be taken to Astoria and soon. The Lady needed to know whatever details of the Brotherhood the man was willing to share, and she was the only person who could judge his case and decide his fate. It was decided that Arora should stay in Arca as the unofficial eyes of the Brethren while Tristan, Bristol, and Turin would escort Trap to Astoria. Geff was free to go wherever he wished. “I want to go with you,” said Geff to Tristan one day during his recovery. “

  What about your Journey?” asked Tristan.

  “I can learn more in Astoria than I could ever learn asking farmers about their preferred methods for raising chickens,” laughed the boy.

  “I thought you were only allowed to visit Syre and Arca,” said Tristan.

  “We are strongly encouraged to remain in the Eastern Realms, but it is not mandatory,” said Geff, “besides, you said I could accompany you as long as our paths coincided. I am going to Astoria.”

  “You are more than welcome to come,” said Tristan, “I just wanted to make sure you wanted to go.”

  “Who is Trap?” asked Geff.

  “He once belonged to the Brother
hood,” said Tristan, “where his allegiance lies now I do not know. He saved my life, but he is responsible for the deaths of at least three of the Brethren. The Lady must decide his fate, but you need to know who you are traveling with. He seems to have repented, but I cannot read a man’s soul. He may be as foul a villain as he was the day we captured him. I hope he has had a change of heart as his knowledge may hold the key to the Brotherhood’s undoing.”

  “Then you will need someone to watch your back,” Tristan smiled at the boy’s jest.

  Arora was not pleased to be left behind (especially after Tristan’s narrow escape), but someone had to stay and keep an eye on things. Bristol would return to his duties as soon as Trap was safely delivered to Astoria. The five men rode quietly away just as the sun was rising. Arora watched them go and returned to her duties. It was a rather uneventful journey, much to Geff’s dismay. Trap did not try to escape and was even very helpful with the camp chores. Geff watched him closely, as if trying to discover the habits of some strange new animal. Tristan suspected that the boy was hoping for another sword fight. The three men took turns standing watch, but the prisoner never tried to escape and no enemies appeared to threaten their camp. They traveled quickly and soon reached their destination. Turin rode ahead, to warn the Lady of their coming. The others followed more slowly to give the Lady time to prepare as she thought she must. They rode unceremoniously into the courtyard of the castle, dismounted, and a groom attended to the real horses while the unicorns were dismissed to do as they pleased. A servant met them and led them to the Lady’s small audience chamber.

  Everyone, including Trap bowed; she motioned them to the waiting chairs. They were seated and she paced before them. “I welcome you all to Astoria,” said the Lady, “though the circumstances of your arrival are most surprising. We have encountered several of your former colleagues, but they have always managed to kill themselves before we could speak with them. Why are you not an oily stain on the carpet?”

  “Lady,” began Trap, “long have I served darkness and my own selfish desires. I was on the brink of destruction when one of your servants reached out with compassion and saved my wretched life. I have known little of love and nothing of kindness. My whole life I felt there was nothing to live for but power, but I never found any joy or fulfillment in it. I have come to realize the futility of such things. For a time, I was a broken and empty man. I had reneged the darkness, but found nothing to take its place. Slowly I came to realize the joy of simple things: music, conversation, or sunshine. I yearned for joy and these simple delights began to shine a light into the stygian depths of my heart. I am now able to enjoy such things but yearn for something greater still. I yearn for the source of all joy, truth, and music. But I do not know how to attain that which I seek or if I will be accepted should I try. What would you have of me?”

  “If I could,” said the Lady, “I would know all you can tell me of this vile Brotherhood.”

  “I will tell everything I know,” said Trap.

  “Then begin,” said the Lady firmly. She took her chair and looked at Trap expectantly.

  He began, “the Brotherhood of the Serpent began not long after the events that led to the foundation of the Brethren, for The Brotherhood was the Evil One’s answer to the Brethren. Long have they dwelt and acted in secret. Quietly doing whatever they could to confound the Master’s plans and his servants. Evil and greedy men who seek out such power are somehow drawn to someone already immersed in it. The new recruit is then apprenticed to a full fledged member. Various rites, dark and evil, must be performed at several junctures along the way. The first is the swearing away of your soul to the Evil One. As one progresses along the path, your powers and skills increase. When you reach the final stages, you are given the ability to charm the Lurkers of the Northern Wilds. Mastering such a beast is the final sign that you are now a master within the Brotherhood. There is no central organization or official rank within the system and we rarely meet. I believe there is a central head, but I do not know his name or location. I believe he communicates directly with the Evil One who is said to shroud himself in the guise of a Black Dragon, or so I was once told. It is he who coordinates and plans our various tasks and assignments. We are not told more than we need to know. My assignment was to oversee the progress of our experiment in pandemonium in the East, specifically in the city of Arca. Messengers were sent directly to each agent in the field and occasionally showed up to check on our progress; there is no direct communication with the mysterious leader, save for the privileged few. The goal of the Brotherhood is to enable our masters to eventually overthrow the entire world and cover it in darkness and evil: to remake it in their own image. So far, the forces of good have triumphed. That is the basic idea. I can answer any specific questions you might have.”

  “Thank you,” said the Lady standing again. “You did not beg for pardon or demand it in exchange for your information. You stand accused of murdering three of my servants, not to mention the other evils you have perpetrated that we are as yet unaware of. What have you to say?”

  Trap calmly said, “I am guilty of far greater sins than you could possibly imagine. I will not beg for mercy, as I know I do not deserve it. That you have helped me regain my soul is enough; I am content. Do with me as you wish. I will face whatever your justice demands.”

  ,The Lady replied, “you speak the truth. Your information will be very important to us in the coming days. I fear this Brotherhood of yours has only begun to give us trouble. You have recanted of your sins and have regained your soul. While it does not undo the evils you have wrought in the past, perhaps it gives hope for the future. You have also saved the life of one of my servants and for that I am deeply grateful. The law demands your head for the least of your crimes, but mercy and justice may be achieved through another means. If you truly seek the Master and will dedicate your reclaimed soul to his purposes you will be pardoned of death, however you must realize that in so doing you are losing any claim on your own dreams, wishes, or desires. You will be at my beck and call and I will send you into the very heart of danger. It is no more and no less than I demand of each of my servants. Because of your precarious circumstances, should you take the Oath and then violate or repudiate it, you will be held accountable for whatever justice demands. I am not letting you go free of charge, nor am I forcing you into a decision; the Oath cannot be forced. I am giving you an option; both will claim your life. One choice simply gives it purpose and direction; the other satisfies justice but is a terrible waste. Which will you choose?”

  Astonishingly, Trap fell to his knees before the Lady and said, “I know little of this Master of yours and I know how little I deserve his mercy, but if you will have me, my life is yours to do with as you will. Perhaps you can put it to greater use than I.” That night, before all there gathered, Trap took his Oath and swore his life to serve the Master and the Lady. For the first time in his life he felt hope and peace stirring in his soul.