Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  "As a consequence of my beliefs, I find our purposes, while not intimately linked, set to collide at this end. It is known that the Elves harbor the greatest collection of knowledge Avendia has ever known, but they are reclusive and do not share. And since our prime dictate is the understanding and dissemination of all knowledge, it is no far thing to see that we, the elves and wizards, are on a path destined to collide as opponents," said Esthinor confidently.

  "So, you wish to join our differing purposes to that of a common goal?" asked Jesolin.

  "Indeed," Said Esthinor solidly.

  Pausing to listen for the guidance of his master, Jesolin considered the wizard's proposition. But when he did not hear the familiar voice, he answered, "You see much, Esthinor. We are indeed set to a greater purpose than that of the Silver Empire. To that end, I will allow your indulgence with the elves. But it would be in both of our best interests if our joined purposes remain hidden. I do not think it will be well for either of us to face the elves before we are ready."

  "Thank you, Lord Kahl. Placing your trust in The University is something you will not regret. We will leave with all haste. But there is something that requires my direct supervision before we set out for Meckthenial. Messages must be sent and a certain ritual must be performed. It will delay us somewhat, but like your well-crafted speech moments ago, it is a necessity for the foundation of what must come. I will send word when we have embarked. Thank you again, my lord," said the Grand Wizard as he turned to leave with his escorts.

  "Is this a matter I might be able to assist in?" asked Jesolin in an uncharacteristic display of servitude.

  "No, my Lord, it is an internal affair," said Esthinor dismissing himself.

  Jesolin watched the wizard and his small entourage walk away dissolving into the remaining crowd who hoped to catch a glimpse of the man who spoke to their hearts as he walked back to the keep. Most of the events since his master had first revealed his true nature to him, while he was yet an unknown gypsy, were made known to him prior to their occurrence. But he had received no warning regarding this Wizard or his proposition. As troubling as that could have been for Jesolin, he was able to rationalize his decision amidst his master's silence rather quickly. Their plans were larger and as such, required a portion of boldness. Would he suffer for this boldness? Potentially. But he may also be rewarded for his foresight.

  His mind, though not unfocused, did wander at times; but only when faced with idle moments between periods of action, and this was one of those moments. He knew he was to march against the Silver Empire's capital of Pretago Cor, but he had not been given any further details. As such, he set his followers unto each of their preparations. Again, his reputation drove them to independently fulfill his directives to the letter fearing not to do so would earn the ire and admonishment of Mordin, who had become his greatest enforcer.

  Mordin, his Prime Necron had demonstrated an almost fanatical dedication to him ever since his brother Oolos had been removed as chief and slain, both on the same day. He had gained the reputation as Jesolin's silent enforcer, displaying absolutely no mercy to those who either disobeyed Jesolin's command, or failed to carry it out to the completion Jesolin deserved. Yet, even as dedicated as Mordin was, Jesolin knew there was no greater connection than fear. Remove the fear, and he would remove the dedication. This what his life had become: the conditional obedience forced from a control based in fear. Indeed, fear was the greater catalyst to action. Without it, he wondered if there would be any action at all.

  And then there was this boy, this Drin, whose lack of fear, or its overcoming, propelled him to act against the greatest of odds. The young man's sisters could offer him no benefit nor use, and certainly created no shadow of fear, yet they gained the dedication to allow action.

  His first interaction with Drin provided him with no answers to his greater question. While he did gain more insight to the boy and his motivations, there were still many questions that remained unanswered, questions that were allowed to occupy his mind during this idle time of preparation. As such, he decided to visit the boy one more time today in an effort to understand what he had not understood. Perhaps he would also gain comprehension of why he was bound to the boy's sisters so tightly. Because, whether he liked it or not, he held them in higher regard than even Vismorda; and as they offered him much less use than she, he was unable to rationalize his conclusion.

  As he was walking through his new castle to the door leading to the dungeons, he was met by several of the its servants, each offering him praise for his speech and promise indicating he had achieved his desired response. There was still much work to do to gain the confidence of the people, but it had begun and was well on its way. Soon, word would spread of his benevolent reasons for occupying the keep and his further intrusion into the vast reaches of the Silver Empire. If, by chance of all chances, he was unable to sit upon the Silver Throne, he would win the support of its people and use that support to create a revolution from within. But that was the last option. His confidence in the efficacy of his army was absolute.

  As he entered the dungeons housing Drin and his young friend, he said, "Since our conversation earlier today was so stimulating, I thought we could continue it now." When he was met with silence, he added, “Silence will not prevent this conversation, young Drin.” Again, the boy had chosen to remain silent. When he arrived at the cell door, he looked up as he said, “Come now, did I not say I was trying to be your,” but left the statement hanging as he saw the cell was empty.

  "What is the meaning of this?" asked Jesolin as he thundered out of the dungeons to speak with the guards.

  "My Lord, what do you mean?" answered one of the three.

  "The prisoners, where are they?" he asked forcefully.

  "My Lord?" said one of the guards after looking to the other guards.

  "The two young boys! Where are they?”

  "They are in their cells, Lord Kahl. Just as you ordered," said the guard apprehensively.

  "I can assure you they are not! Now unless you desire your very soul to be taken, you had better answer my next question truthfully. Where are they?" he shouted.

  "My Lord, if you will permit me to show you," said the guard through a fearful voice, "you will find them still quite secure in their cells. The only one to pass here after you was Vismorda, and she left alone."

  “Are you questioning what I saw?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “No, my Lord. If you would just permit me to show you, please,” requested the guard again. Jesolin relented and allowed him to be led back to the cells. But, when the guards opened the door to show Jesolin that both the boy and his monk friend were still securely in their cells, their hearts sank to their toes when they saw only emptiness. "My Lord, no one has passed here since you did. Only Vismorda. We did not go on rotation, nor has either of us three been away from our posts."

  "So, you are telling me that their escape was the fault of your collective incompetence?" insinuated Jesolin, his voice ripe with anger and building rage.

  "No, My Lord," answered the three guards in unison.

  "Then tell me whose fault it is? Are you accusing Vismorda of treachery?" he asked as he shouted. "Can it be possible two young boys could have slipped out of their cells without help from those who possessing the only means necessary for their escape?" he yelled again. "No! It cannot be! One of, if not all three of you, are lying to protect yourselves! And I will not tolerate it!"

  As he finished his last sentence placing horrible emphasis on each word, the dark fountain exploded to his command and unleashed a devastating slice of rage made physical tearing into the three ill equipped guards, splattering their blood against the wall behind them. Their limp bodies fell to the ground with a heavy thud, a thud that did nothing to quench the fluid hate now boiling over in Jesolin. Without hesitation, he launched himself through the door and ran toward the only destination that mattered. He went to see his Ravens.

  Dashing through the h
alls was providing more difficult than he had remembered on his previous few trips. Desperation fueled his speed, but it also grew his urgency to where his singular focus was being securely rooted in the hope of finding them still where he needed them to be. But he was not so overtaken that he was not aware of his rather confusing state of necessity when it came to Malice and Vile. Only on one other occasion had he felt the need to protect something as if it was his and his alone. But why? Why did he need them if he needed them at all?

  Finally reaching the chamber where Vismorda kept them, he took a moment to composed himself before opening the door. He knew they would be in their evening session with her so his arrival would appear as no surprise to them. He often times observed the two young girls during her training sessions to evaluate their progress as well as Vismorda and her training methods. Before he entered, he performed a quick life scan of those within and found only two, but not the two life signatures of those he sought. He felt Vismorda, her darkness plainly visible to him as it seemed to drink the light around it, and another. But this other was neither dark nor light, yet it contained components of both mixed in a dance of lethal intent, each seeking to destroy the other and reign supreme.

  He grabbed the handle, opened the door and burst through abruptly, coming face to face with a shadow as it shimmered just out of existence. Instantly he released his rage in a blanket of blackness to cover the entire room, but it covered only Vismorda as she lay breathlessly on the floor. He immediately scanned the room again for the same mixed life signature he had previously felt, but any trace of it was gone. There was only one, the Vismorda’s.

  Bursting from his voice was a hate driven yell that bellowed through the halls of the entire Blood Keep to reach beyond its stone boundaries. Had it leapt from an entirely mortal vocal instrument, it would have shredded his ability to speak, but its sound was utterly unholy, propelled by an evil existing in the realm of immortality, such was his rage.

  As he gathered himself, he walked over to Vismorda who had just reached the steadiness of her feet. Through an intensely stern gaze, he asked, "How?"

  "There were three of them, my Lord. One of them was well trained in abilities beyond the others," she said as she sheathed her blades.

  He struck her hard across her face. "Do you not remember the charge I gave you? Are you not well trained in abilities well beyond what others have used? Or has my training been insufficient?"

  Push her, my son. Extend your rage to her. She must be taught.

  "No, My Lord. Your training is more than adequate. He took me by surprise and gained the advantage allowing the boy, his monk friend and the girls to escape," she said as she recovered from his blow.

  He struck her again. "Do you need a reminder that your charge was pitted against your life?" he spat.

  "No, My Lord," she said, all too familiar with his beatings when bent upon the release of his rage.

  Feel it, my Son. Give into it. Feel its call for reparations.

  He struck her a third time. She fell to the ground under his backhand's impact, "What then should be done? Should your failure go unpunished? Should you be made to suffer no reparations?"

  "No, My Lord. Please, allow me to find them," she said as she scuttled backward seeking to avoid the completion of his rage.

  "I will allow no such thing!" he yelled as he strode over to her. "I will demand it! You will find them. You will bring them back. And you will beg for your life!"

  Now, my Son. Show her the price for failure. Make her pay.

  Wordlessly, he bent down. She instinctively huddled as far away from him as she could, but she was already pressed against the wall and found no reprieve in its hard surface. He reached down for her hair. She tried to strike him, but he was quicker. After blocking her rather weak attempts at escape, he lifter her to her feet, one hand on her hair, and the other around her throat cutting off her air until her face began to turn a deep shade of red. She tried to reach for her fountain, but found nothing there.

  "You dare use that which I gave you against me?" he said as he continued to squeeze. Her consciousness waivered and her sight became blurred. "No! You will gain no respite. You will suffer every second!" he said as he loosened his grasp just enough to allow a tickle of air into her lungs. She lashed out at him again, but her strikes weekly landed on his shoulders. He laughed. He laughed and began.

  Reaching for his fountain, sick with hate driven lust, he formed a blanket of control over her and tightened the knot more tightly that the most skilled sailors ever could. But whereas theirs was to secure sails and ropes, his was to secure her suffering and submission. He tore her clothes off as he tore away any ability she had remaining for resistance. He probed the pleasure centers of her mind not in an effort to stimulate them as he so often did during the course of his taking, but to avoid them. She would feel no pleasure. Instead he found that which contained her pain and unrelentingly drove mental spikes into it as his fingers drove deeply between her legs.

  He felt her legs grow weary and paused to allow their strength to return enough to prevent her from falling. When he felt everything that was within her break and shatter into a thousand shards of shattered hope, he turned her around and pushed her face into the hard and cold bricks. He took himself in his hand and pushed his erected strength inside of her. With no remorse, he plunged in direct unison with the plunging of his darkness into all the corners of her defeat.

  When the normal limits of mortal existence had been all but destroyed, that which remains is nothing more than a molten sludge of consciousness. But he would not push her that far. No, he needed her to complete the task he had assigned her. He needed her to find and return his ravens. For reasons he still did not fully understand, he needed them returned safely to him. And Vismorda, in spite of her current failure, would see it done. Before he reached a climax driven explosion, he stopped and withdrew himself.

  "No, my dear. You will pleasure me no longer," he said in a whispered tone of contempt. "Now, gather yourself and find my Ravens," he said with emphasis on the last three words. "If you fail, what you have just felt will continue as an eternity. You think you have broken now? No, my dear Vismorda, you have not felt what it is to break yet. But fail this task, and you will."

  As he turned to leave, he withdrew his support and she fell hard to the ground. She was utterly motionless and showed no signs of life except the silent tears that streamed down her cheeks. When she regained her consciousness, she was unaware of how long she had lane on the floor. She weekly pushed herself to her hands and knees, estimating it must have been measurable in hours. Her body was sore, mostly between her legs. Her mind was cloudy having almost been driven mad with pain. Yet, beyond the moments of her punishment, there was one thought that rang clear and loud, though it did not belong to Jesolin. She knew why he had allowed her to live. He needed her to complete a task. But what she did not know is why, when given the chance to kill her and escape unseen, had that man allowed her to live. So, while she conceded she was completely driven by Jesolin's threat, she also knew there was another quest she needed to finish. She needed to find that man again.

  Wollago

  (Wolflings)

  "There are just too many of them," she thought. But before she allowed that thought to be transmitted to her packmates, she pushed it out of her mind. True, their situation was more desperate now than it had even been in the past, but to attach it to any amount of doubt would weaken the mettle of her companions thus weakening their position in the battle. However, the fact remained they were not faring well. She had already seen several of her companions fall victim to the deadly attacks of their enemies, enemies they have defeated in the past, but were struggling against now.

  She dodged a particularly vicious strike aimed at her right hind leg, no doubt an attempt to limit her superior speed. But, as tired as she had become because of the lengthy duration of this battle, she yet possessed more fight. She spun quickly, whipped her head and biting fiercely. She struc
k meat, or at least whatever substance these demons were made of. It howled in a mixed display of rage and pain as she continued driving her large canine teeth into its forearm using the full measure of her powerful jaws to tighten her grip. The demon continued to howl as it vigorously shook its arm trying desperately to dislodge the large wolf’s rending teeth. But she was not to be denied this day and ground her teeth more deeply until she found the bone. It shrieked a soul piercing wail. Everything within ear shot shuttered. The small battles within the larger battle were stricken to stillness, even if just for a brief moment, the advancing right flank of demonic cavalry bolstered their determination to break the lupine lines, and the wolves became more emboldened that perhaps this fight was going to end soon.

  The beast’s barbaric bellow ended as quickly as it had begun, but its will to battle did not. It fought through the pain, raised its wicked sword high in the air, and brought it down with inhuman force toward her neck. She pulled her legs and placed them on the demon’s chest. Right before its blade would have cut right through her, she leapt backward into the air, spinning as she did. When she landed, she had not a second to spare as its blade was already speeding toward her head a second time. She dodged to the right, and then again to the left to evade a third slash. It was relentless and growing stronger with each passing moment. Her bite, though deep and painful, had done nothing except to enrage the hell-spawn. She feinted a counterattack to the left, and darted to the right aiming for its right leg. Just before her teeth sank into its substance for a second time, she felt a heavy fist crash against her back. She hit the ground hard, so hard her breath was forced from her lungs. In the moment of her stunned stillness, she felt its large and strong hand lift her up by the back of her neck and prepare to run her through with its hellblade.

  The demon, howling from taking one more step toward victory, held its blade high in the air relishing in its supremacy. She struggled with all of her might to free herself, but she was helpless in its grasp. She said a silent prayer and thought of only things that would embolden her pack to continue the fight. She knew her death would strike a heavy blow to their confidence but it was essential they not only continue, but they prevail. When she was just about to give up and allow her death to elevate her life to martyrdom, she saw the tremendous silhouette of her brother descend against the backdrop of the cloudless sky. He landed upon the demon's back and sank his teeth deeply into the back of its neck. Struggling against his huge weight and the force of his plummet, along with the pain from his bite, it could not hold her and let go. She landed on her feet and instantly sprang to her brother’s aid. Distracted, the demon was unable to avoid her jaws as they bit into its lower leg.