Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  “Go!” commanded Soliana. “There is more to be done,” she said without looking back. With her voice a complete reflection of her hope driven will, the barbarian chief thought better of it than to try and convince her to come. The four of them looked to each other and turned their horses seeking to cover as much ground as they could as quickly as they could.

  “Get up you cowards!” shouted a voice from the fallen barbarians. “Form your lines and attack her!” But the barbarians were reluctant to follow the voice’s instruction as they were unsure just how much wrath they would incur if they did. “Form your lines and attack, or your lives, and those of your families, will be forfeit!” shouted the voice again. This time, with the threat of death, the barbarians quickly formed two separate lines. The front line was composed of warriors wielding small hatchet type axes. The second line was similarly formed, but those warriors were carrying short bows and arrows. Things happened so quickly, there was no time for the intervention of logical thought; hence, there was no time for belief to be distracted. But after the initial shock and revelation, when the habitual thoughts of the mortally constructed world were allowed to flow freely again, logic often caused belief to cede its ground. But today, this was not the case as Soliana was fully immersed in the world beyond the logical senses. She was utterly detached from her mortal understand of reality, and as such, nearly all things were now possible.

  There was a yell from the barbarian leader and the back row of warriors let fly barrage after barrage of arrows, all aimed at the single woman still wearing the merchant’s meager dress. As the pointed death lanced through the air toward her, she yelled in defiance to the launched arrows dropping them to the ground twenty feet from her. There was another shout from the barbarians, and the warriors, all of them, both lines, advanced in a fury driven charge. As they wildly ran at her, she found their collective wills to be formidable; however, they were not propelled by the conviction of their hope’s collective realities. As such, she found them lacking.

  Bordering on contempt, she squared herself to the foundational belief that her will exceeded theirs and bellowed again. This time though, her voice was not the raw and powerful instrument of a bludgeoning anvil. Rather, it was as shrill and precise as a guided lightning strike aimed at the tonal vibrations of their hearts. She was as beautiful and terrible as the storms of the great oceans; the storms that not even the fabled ocean serpents dared to test seeking instead to find solitude and safety in the deep fathoms of the waters. But there were no fathoms of safety for the running barbarians, and no place for them to ride out the storm of this woman. As her voiced pierced their ears, she saw them drop to their knees, gripping the sides of their heads. All of them were subjected to the manifestation of her will. And all of them would never rise again.

  As she completed her symphony of doom and her voice stilled to only the sounds of her heavy breathing, she felt light, as if she was floating again while in the Dream Trance. She tried to step forward but faltered and almost fell. She placed her hands on her knees seeking the stability of her arms. After a few particularly heavy breaths, she straightened up and tried to walk again. But the exertion of picking her foot from the ground was too much for her. She felt her head become lighter and her vision dissolve to a combination of flickering lights and white haze until she could see nothing at all. She did not feel her body contact the ground. Nor did she feel the passage of the sun as its warmth progressed from her right to left. In the slumber of her unconsciousness she felt nothing except her hope. And in this moment, that was enough.

  Imbale

  (Bargain)

  As I reluctantly relinquished the thought that all three of us would emerge from the bowels of this horrible place, I hastily followed the mental map of the stone halls of the Stone Keep. However slowed our progress was because both Vennesulte and I were each carrying one of my sisters on our shoulders like an expensive throw rug, we found our progress to be strangely uninterrupted. Somehow, perhaps because of some simple coincidence, we did not come across any other people as we negotiated through the maze of halls standing between ourselves and the exit. It was good that we did not, because in our haste, and partially because of our disbelief that we had gotten this far in the progression of our plan, if it was even a plan, we did not have an adequate reason to explain why we were carrying two young girls over our shoulders. Had we been entering the stone keep instead of exiting, we could have easily explained our actions as delivering them as tribute to any number of superior figures. But because our endeavor found us leaving, we were left with nothing more than our silence.

  We found this to be true soon after ascending the stairs to the keep’s ground level when we saw, down the long hallway we needed to traverse, a contingency of no less than ten guards. Before we could turn around or dash into a door hoping to hide before their eyes were set upon us, we heard the lead guard shout, “Necrons! Can you aid me?”

  We were far enough away that they had apparently not noticed the two smaller figures across our shoulders but were not so far away that they could not identify we were disguised as members of what appeared to be an upper echelon of authority and knowledge. For the briefest of moments, I considered turning right around and walking back down the stairs but decided against it. We were lucky to have gotten this far in our rescue and escape, and going back down into the lower levels would test that luck further than what I or Vennesulte would be willing to test. “Necrons!” shouted the voice again. “Please, I am in need of your assistance!”

  We could not go back, and to go forward meant to acknowledge the request of this guard. I briefly considered attempting to mimic Kinarin’s air of authority in my response but though better of it. Though my skills with blades and other weapons had increased greatly under his tutelage, I was not so certain of my acting abilities. Not to mention, in this moment, I felt less authoritative than even a first level student at The University of Knowledge. They were approaching quickly, at least it seemed quickly, but perhaps that was just my perception being influenced by my hope that they would all just turn around and leave in the direction they had come. However, they did not. More than that, they were showing no signs of doing so. I needed to respond. Calming myself as much as I could, I addressed them in the most composed and coolest voice I could summon, “What is your request?”

  Instinctively, I allowed my eyes to examine the other guards walking with their leader and I noticed a vacancy to theirs. They were opened and seemed to focus on me, but there was an unnerving absence of awareness to them as if they were suspended in a sort of wakeful dream without the conscious understanding of the complexities of intentional thought. All of the men were like this. All of them except their leader whom I heard say, “Necron? Are you ok?”

  His voiced focused my attention back to him and away from the others, “Yes. I am fine. Now, what is it you require assistance with?”

  “Did you not hear my request?” asked the guard. “I am new to these halls and do not know where I am to go.”

  I saw instantly that he lacked the malicious intent behind his affect that nearly all of those we had encountered in the lower levels had exhibited. Nor did he possess their wicked looking weapons and armor. As a matter of fact, he was not in possession of any of the typical trappings of a warrior, let alone an evil one bent upon the destruction of everything life held dear.

  “What is your name?” I asked him.

  “Bartin. Bartin, from Twin Oaks” he answered.

  There was a familiarity in his name I should have recognized. “How is it you came here, Bartin?” I asked him.

  “I was conscripted into Lord Myosk’s military as part of my Selection. I was only months from my fulfillment when we were attacked,” he said, but quickly recovered the possible slight to one of the attackers by adding, “but I am happy to fulfill my obligations as long as they may last.”

  Bartin. Bartin Mares, the name echoed into a time so long ago it seemed like a different age entirely. And fo
r me, it was. His name came from the age before all of the unfortunate trials of hopelessness and grown from the seeds form my very own Selection. In fact, this young man, Bartin Mares and I shared the same selection. It seemed as though mine was not the only fortune affected by the darkness that was pursuing the land. But contained inside his name was a potential so insidious to our success, I dare not invoke it. Within these walls, aside from Jesolin and Vismorda, this young man was perhaps the only one with the ability to end our attempted escape with nothing more than his voice. If he recognized me, and the young monk whose victory no doubt still stood as one of the many wonders he would still be unable to explain, all would be lost. Instinctively, I pulled my hood farther over my face. “What are you about?” I asked him, trying to maintain any semblance of evil authority.

  “I was charged with escorting this batch to the training fields, but I have never gone through the keep. “Do you know which way will take me to the east exit?” he asked.

  Admittedly, I did not. However, whether this young man ever reached his end goal was not my concern, nor was the training of this ‘batch’. So, I answered as if I knew without hesitation, “Yes. Do you see the door at the end of this hall? The one opposite the direction you came from?”

  “Yes,” answered Bartin.

  “Good,” I said, “Go through that door and down the steps, follow the main hallway avoiding any turns until it ends. You will go through that door and up the steps as well. Keep following that main hallway until it ends in a double door. Through those doors is the training fields,” I lied.

  Satisfied with my directions, his faced seemed to release a bit of his stress, “Thank you, Necron,” he said. “If I may, I have another question?”

  “Yes?” I indicated he should continue with his inquiry.

  “What are they for?” he asked as he pointed to the two bodies hefted across our shoulders.

  “They are the next batch,” I said.

  “You know,” continued Bartin, now testing my anxiety for escape, “I never would have believed that we would have been better off being under the control of another. But since the battle ended, there have been many superior changes implemented by the new Lord.”

  “You see,” I said, “we are not nearly as evil as you were undoubtedly told. Now, we can delay no longer. You have your directions and we have our instructions. Be well, Rentin Mares,” I said as walked past him, Vennesulte quick to follow.

  “Necron,” he said halting our attempt.

  “Yes,” I said ominously.

  “How did you know my last name?” he asked.

  Without hesitation, I saw the success we had fought so hard to attain dwindle in the wake of my mistake. Attempting to sound formal, and thus superior, I inadvertently slipped by using his last name. A name he had not spoken himself. There was nothing I could to do to rescind my mistake. It was out there, in the open. And he saw it. He peered inside my hood and I saw his eyes widen with recognition and understanding. He did the same with Vennesulte.

  Everything slowed. I saw his breath prepare for a loud yell of alarm. I saw his mouth open and his stomach muscles prepare for the loud expulsion. I had my hidden dagger in my hand and thrust it into his stomach between his fourth and fifth ribs, penetrating his heart and ending any compulsion he had to cry out.

  He eyes penetrated deep inside me. And when they should have produced an empathetic response from mine, they instead returned a steel coldness from the unavoidable truth that it was, indeed, nothing personal. Though I was sorry he had been at this place and at this time, I was not sorry my blade ended his life. In the necessities of horrible consequences, the lesser of two evils becomes the greatest of goods. Had he not died, any hope for my sisters to become everything I still believed they could, would have dissolved away. But because I struck true and fast, there was till hope. And for me, in this moment, the continuance of hope was the greatest good there could be.

  “What should be done about them?” asked Vennesulte referring to the “batch” that was absently standing and observing the scene.

  “I have no idea. But we do not have time to address them. We must go,” I said.

  While we were talking quickly away, Vennesulte said, “Vennesulte is impressed by the ease with which you lie.”

  “Thank you. I think,” I said.

  “It is good you did because Vennesulte can speak nothing that is not true,” said the monk. At the time, I did not understand the depth of his statement. I had assumed it was related to some sort of oath that all members of The Brotherhood spoke as a contingency of their membership. In the later parts of our relationship, I would become more aware of its gravity, but for the moment, the true depth of this young, enigmatic monk was so remotely displaced from my only tangible concern, I accepted my current assessment of him as the only possible truth.

  With each step we took, I was becoming more and more sure that we would be discovered and imprisoned again; however, had I known in advance how strangely easy our escape would have been, I would not have been nervous at all. Our only contact with anyone was the guard, Bartin, and his batch. Beyond him, there were no others we contacted. At least, no others that we had direct contact with. We did observe several other groups that were very similar to Bartin’s, each with a single leader and more of those who were referred to as a “batch”. They all had a very similar look as the first group we encountered. Some were armed and walked with more precision and lethality. Others were naked with several strange markings inscribed on their skins in a dark red liquid. I had hoped it was clothing dye, but from the look of how it crusted up, it was more likely blood. And although there were many leaders each with their own batch, we managed to escape notice and exit the stone keep through a small, wooden door at the base of one of its tall guard towers.

  The air seemed unusually fresh, possibly influenced by my eased breathing resulting from the successful completion of the first phase of our escape. We had made it out of the dauntingly large and solid stone keep. But that is not to say we celebrated anything because we both knew we had just begun the second part of our trial, the part where more eyes could find us easily. No longer were we hidden behind the natural separation of a confined structure with its complex walls and hiding doors, and darkening shadows. Instead, we were opened and exposed, like a nerve without its protective skin. It would not be as simple to hide in the open, and with the activity we now saw, my fleeting hopes sank even further than they had while within the keep interior. Someone was sure to notice us and raise the alarm.

  It was in this moment that I realized how much I missed and would continue to miss Kinarin and his tutelage. Though he was not here in body to lead us in an inevitably successful plan, his influence was still present. To prevent my mind from spinning out of control and the enormity of the task ahead of us, I focused for a few seconds and centered myself as I had been taught.

  A majority of my training with Kinarin was focused on secrecy, but it extended beyond what one would normally associate with assassins. He did instruct me on the art of hiding in shadows and remaining hidden out of sight, but greater were his lessons at teaching me the much finer art of remaining hidden while out in the open and in plain sight of everyone. “If you are caught in a place where you should not be, then your nefarious intentions have already been revealed and the only option remaining is victory through battle. If, however, you are able to assimilate yourself into the normal surroundings and appear to be simply part of the normally occurring landscape and daily routines, then you have gained an access greater than any you could have achieved while being hidden,” he said during one of his lessons.

  Because of this, I looked for something, anything that would allow us to blend in, because two youths carrying two other smaller youths upon their shoulders was a rouse that would not last long. And in light of our escape, which I was certain would become public knowledge shortly if it had not become already, it would be even more difficult hiding ourselves when simply our numbers a
nd ages would betray any simple disguise. So, I was presented with two problems that would, upon solving them, immediately allow our disguises to remain intact hopefully long enough to allow our escape. However, one of the problems was impossible to solve: our ages. If we appeared either older or younger than we were, it would naturally act as a deterrent for our would-be captors. But, because neither Vennesulte nor I possessed either the magical talent or knowledge required to implement what is surely a tremendous magical feat, we were left with only one option – we had to reduce our numbers.

  It would be a natural suggestion to split up which would reduce us from a group of four to two groups of two, but the solidity of that disguise would be easy to see through even by the most novice of sleuths. No, we would certainly need a more complex disguise than simply splitting our numbers evenly down the middle.

  And then both Vennesulte and I looked to where our journey into the stone keep began. We saw the tower that Kinarin and I had scaled to gain entrance to the perch upon which I killed the wrong man. But more importantly, our combined visions traced the whole length from the window we had escaped through and saw, still in its place, the very cart full of hay Kinarin and I had used to break the damage of our fall. It was still there, leaning against the outer wall, seemingly just for us and just for this occasion. We crossed the distance quickly and deposited my sisters in the wagon. We covered them with the remaining hay along with our robes and proceeded to push it toward the gate.

  Even though we were confident with our disguise of two brothers returning our cart to our father’s farm on the outskirts of the city grounds, apparently unsuccessful with our plans to sell hay for money, we decided it would be better to avoid a direct confrontation with any guards we might come in contact with. As such, when we saw a particularly large contingency of them walking our way, we nonchalantly turned our hay wagon down a small alley and decided to wait until they passed.