“Spring it,” answered Eriboth with a wink of his vacantly white eye.
*******
As he donned the clothes of the man he had just incapacitated, he could not help but wish Kinarin could be here with him. Had he used enough of the tonic to subdue the man long enough so his cover would not be blown? Had he applied enough poison to the miniature bolt to quickly render Eriboth beyond the help of the royal healers? And had he and Nadalize’s plan been thorough enough to have considered all potential variables ensuring his success and escape? There were many questions; however, his mentor had remained unconscious during his rather short preparation time. Although his condition had improved, at least that is what the healers had said, he was still unable to assist with any part of his plan. As such, he would have to carry out this mission alone.
Though he and Nadalize had tried to formulate a plan that did not include his presence inside the grounded confines of the throne room, there was no other way. However, they were able to incorporate a newly created weapon in the guild’s stores to facilitate an option where Drin did not have to get within arm’s reach of the most lethal warrior Avendia had ever seen. Using several of the pieces in the cabinet within the planning room to construct a small model of the throne room and the surrounding area, they determined he would have to impersonate someone inside the throne room to get close enough to accurately utilize the miniature crossbow effectively. Too close and he would naturally draw attention to himself when he aimed and fired; thus, he needed to remain at a distance where he could still maintain his anonymity. That meant he had to become one of the interior guards.
He had followed their rotations for the last couple of days and selected the appropriate guard to impersonate allowing him to be stationed just inside the doors, close enough to take the shot with a reasonable expectation he would succeed, but far enough away to be out of the direct line of sight of anyone inside. This man had a family, but what were their names? He did know the man’s name, but beyond the routine’s he followed, he knew nothing else? He wondered many things about him as he fastened his belt and hid the mini crossbow under the man’s stolen cape. Had his mission not required his entire focus, he would have indulged in his wonderment. However, the only thing that mattered about him, in this moment, was that he would be in the perfect place, at the perfect time. Is this what assassins did? Steal the identity of the honorable to complete a kill steeped in the most dishonorable profession since the inception of mortality? Though the three-day preparation time had been sufficient enough to obtain the necessary knowledge allowing the selection of the most opportune moment to insert himself into this man’s routine, he had not been fully prepared to receive a message from the High King Kahl earlier that morning that Eriboth would be in the throne room today. Relying on Kinarin’s emotional training, he stilled his mind and began what needed to be done.
Silently and fluidly, mixing into the man’s normal walk from the guard house to the castle, he noticed that he had apparently not been the only one to receive a message regarding Eriboth’s arrival. Though the streets were already being lined with people, they had not yet filled. However, there were several shops that had posted, or were posting, a closed sign in anticipation of catching a glimpse of a living legend. He saw what he assumed to be part of the royal orchestra assembling near the outer gate. He saw other groups, performers of all kinds, making their way toward other areas along the path. He even saw a hugely long golden dragon made from shimmering fabrics held up by many people with wooden rods. Clearly, High King Kahl had chosen to make a spectacle of Eriboth’s arrival. Though for what reason, he could not say. And then it came to him. As he watched the great golden dragon bounce up and down by the movements of the people holding it, he knew. He knew beyond refute. Creating this much of an honored invitation, and then assigning Drin to assassinate him would necessarily result in a man-hunt on the grandest of scales, much too grand for him to avoid forever. With one event, one summons, and one contract, High King Kahl would effectively eliminate two opponents.
*******
The streets were lined with people, all of whom were ready and willing to cheer for their adopted hero of legend. Built upon the retelling of stories passed down from generation to generation under star filled skies, or on rainy days where the only escape from the endless greys and driving storms came in the retelling of tales too impossible not to be believed, or around the smoldering remains of bonfires as the glowing embers provided all the lighting required to romanticize fiction into reality, the excitement of the people lined streets was furious. He was no stranger to praise. Having been the benefactor of his performing prowess inside the random inns and taverns he frequented, he knew the rush of emotions stemming from the accolades could be enthralling. Though it held no rapture for him today. Indeed, there was a time when it would have resulted in his expert pandering to encourage the crowd. However, now was not that time.
In short moments of the rising sun, the streets of Pretago Cor had been transformed into a veritable festival complete with all the usual smells and sights. Performers were upon their stages singing, dancing, and completing any number of fantastic feats meant to display the uniqueness of their skills above those on the stages next to them. Foods, all vibrantly colored and deliciously prepared, were smelled throughout the streets and markets and businesses. Had winter not been too far away, he would have thought this was the Festival of the Selection. But just as winter’s freezing grip would soon trap all thoughts of warmth and plenty within its icy fist, he would soon be within the grasp of his son, who was, no doubt, preparing a trap of his own.
Much like the scene outside of the interior castle throne room, everything inside suggested Eriboth was being welcomed as a venerated guest. In all of their glory, the Royal Court was displayed like a kaleidoscope of blended pageantry resplendent of the great elven kings of old. Reds, yellows, greens, blues, indeed, almost every primary color was represented by the clothes donned by High King Kahl’s courtiers. The hall itself had been changed as well. The monumental tapestries previously adorning the walls had been removed revealing walls the color of dried blood. Except, unlike dried blood, the walls were not static and seemed to slowly swirl inward only to be replenished at their exterior as if they were being fed by some unseen well. The floor’s resemblance to Eriboth’s memory ended with their cool marble texturing as now it glowed a deep shade of blue, almost indigo. The steps up to the raised dais upon which the throne sat were the same color as the walls, however, they did not have the same swirling pattern. Instead of mimicking a slowly turning sea’s maelstrom, the movement within the steps flowed downward and outward form the throne itself to disappear, or be absorbed, at its base.
It was a complicated thing, his sight without sight. Although he could not physically see the colors, he knew what they were just as he knew who the people in the throne room were. As he extended his sense, he knew former King Yahnaros was standing to the right of Jesolin who was sitting upon the throne. He could feel the woman standing next to him to his left and knew that she too possessed a formidable amount of evilly driven power. He knew Exein continued walking toward the throne upon their entrance. He felt the souls of those present, all of them. They were all oppressed into a deceptive form of acquiescence. All, that is, except for Jesolin, the woman next to him, Exein, and Eriboth’s companion, Hundolis. Including himself, there were only five people within the room who had not been enthralled by the new High King’s subversive power. Wait, not five but six. There was one more. From behind him, he felt another soul who had managed to escape the evil entrapment. Though he extended his sense into this other soul’s intent, what he found was vastly different than the rest. Yes, this soul had evaded the spell the others had succumb to, however, it was no less dark. He sensed the same evil, albeit to a lesser extent, that he sensed within his son and his followers, his true followers. But there was more. Around the circle of darkness still shined a ring of bright light much like the lining of a cloud
as at attempted to blot out the sun. Peeing into this soul, he saw there was a battle, a struggle between giving into the hate swelling within him, or to resist it and continue down the path of light.
*******
From his post, after everyone else had entered the throne room and had taken their place, he watched as the last two people, if they could still be considered mortal, entered through the main door and walked up the raised dais, Jesolin to sit on the throne and the woman he knew as Vismorda to stand to his left. He had never seen High King Yahnaros, but imagined he was the man standing to Jesolin’s right. He was so close to him; close enough to risk a shot with his crossbow and imbed the poison tipped bolt into his contract’s benefactor; close enough to rid Avendia of his oppressive evil, close enough to let his soul rest, and close enough to satiate his hatred. And though he could easily draw and aim his crossbow with none being the wiser, possibly even fire a shot before anyone noticed, the words of Nadalize echoed inside his head. What would he be if he gave in to his hate? He was no longer Drin the son. He was no longer Drin the brother. He was no longer Drin the boy. All he was, in this moment was Drin the assassin with the potential of becoming Drin the Enondios, Drin the Godkiller. But what would he be if all of that was taken away? Indeed, what would he become except Drin the nothing.
As the grand throne room doors swung open one last time, and as he saw Eriboth stride confidently into the room accompanied by an elf and a man, he wondered if being nothing would not be better. As the man walked up to the throne, knelt, deeply bowed, touching his very forehead to the eerie marble floor Drin the, whatever he was, reached behind his back under the stolen cape and slowly, quietly, unlatched the leather strap holding his miniature crossbow in place. As planned, when all eyes were on Jesolin as he stood, Drin reached into the small pouch fastened to his stolen leather belt and pulled out a single poison tipped bolt.
*******
“High King Jesolin Kahl, The Revealer of Atrocities, indeed, The Very Bringer of Light, I present to you, Eriboth Dordrosis!” he heard Exein say loudly and confidently. If this presentation had taken place outside and amidst the denizens of Pretago Cor, there would have been an eruption of applause rivaling any he had ever received before; however, the silence inside the throne room at the mention of his name was utter. The only sounds to follow were the soft clicking of his boots on the indigo marble floor as he walked forward to replace Exein where he had just been standing.
“Hello, Father,” said Jesolin calmly.
“Hello, Son,” said Eriboth.
*******
There they were, both men, both promises and both identities. Should he choose one, fame would follow as would renown, but what would he be? Could he shoulder the burden, should he survive the resulting pursuit, of surely being the most sought-after assassin in the land? His survival was not guaranteed. Yes, a plan had been secured for his hopeful escape, but until he was able to rest his head on the pillow of his freedom and intact anonymity, that is all it would remain, hopeful.
However, should he choose to accept the mantle of Godkiller, along with its burden, it would not mean to the exclusion of all other burdens. Rather, intrinsic with the successful completion of his contract, another and quite possibly more formidable burden would be placed upon his shoulders, already weak from life. Should Eriboth die by his hand, and Jesolin live, he would become Drin the Betrayer. Although it would directly betray the confidence of The Guild, his training under Kinarin, his uncle, there would be a greater betrayal. He would be effectively betraying any hope he still had for his sisters to heal from the evil training they had been subjected to. In effect, not only would he be killing Eriboth, but he would also be killing Hithelyn and Jinola. Three kills, one bolt. As he watched the man walk forward and address High King Kahl, as he then watched Eriboth stride forward, he slowly and quietly loaded the bolt into the crossbow.
*******
“Thank you, father, for replying to my summons so quickly and without resistance,” said Jesolin as he sat back down on his throne.
“Why this charade?” he answered, but was focused elsewhere. Still growing within his awareness was the battle this lost soul was facing. What it was over, he did not know, but it was of vital importance to what he would eventually become. Indeed, it was a very battle over good and evil. And like all battles over such certainties, it involved a decision, a choice rendering the other obsolete after its choosing. There would be no going back for him. No reprisal for his soul, no recompense that could be paid, and no damage that could be undone. And there it was. Hiding behind the closed door of heart was a boy still trying to define himself in this world called Avendia.
“Charade? I see no charade, father. I see only the truth of what has happened,” challenged High King Kahl.
“And what do you think has happened?” Eriboth asked in return. Focusing himself more on the troubled soul, he saw loss, such loss none should have had to bear. Ill equipped are we to shoulder the burdens of life and death decisions and even less so can we when faced with their consequences resulting from our choices.
“Change. Change, my dear father. We have sat and watched and planned and waited, suffering deception after deception, all from a God who was not there, all from a God who could not be there,” answered Jesolin, calmly.
“But that is where you are wrong, son of mine,” answered Eriboth. He felt the soul move toward one decision, and then move back to stand on an edge shaper and smaller than any edge ever forged by any of the races of mortality. “He was always there.”
“If what you say is true, then he was there when I watched the old man die at the hands of a beast that never should have lived,” he said, his voice growing more intense with each word. “He was there when my friend, was rendered a cripple by that very same beast,” he continued as he stood. “And he was there and watched and did nothing when my heart was ripped from me as the shovel pounded the life out of the only pure thing I have ever known!”
“Yes, he was,” but before Eriboth could finish, he was interrupted by an explosion of anger.
“No! You do not get to defend him! You have no right because he was there when you left! He was there when you left and did nothing! He never did anything!” shouted the High King of the Silver Empire. Had his gathered entourage not been under an evil spell, the silence would have been just as deafening. Not thunder, nor lighting, nor even the roar of a dragon would lessen the impact of the horrible absence of sound. In fact, the only thing that did penetrate it, that was capable of penetrating it, was the heavy breathing of Jesolin as he slowly regained his calm and lordly countenance. “But that is no matter now.”
“Why is that?” asked Eriboth.
Stepping down of the dais and descending the steps to stand just an arm’s length away, Jesolin said, “Because something was there, dear father, and all has been forgiven.” Jesolin reached out his arms and embraced his father for the first time. In that moment, Eriboth felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades. “But not forgotten,” he heard Jesolin say. The poison worked quickly as it coursed through his veins, stripping his blood of its life-giving strength. He reached out to the troubled soul, but could not feel it any longer. “Easy now, father. Do not resist,” he heard Jesolin say as he eased him down to the floor. From somewhere diffuse, somewhere he had not felt before, he sensed an unspeakably powerful presence.
“Have you prepared?” asked Jesolin.
“All is ready,” answered a voice of utter chaotic resonance.
“Then waste no more time. His very presence sickens me. Had Satan wished it, I would have killed him where he stood,” hissed the High King Kahl.
“Indeed, you would have tried. But he is ours now. Our master has greater plans,” said Gogoziel as he finished drawing a rune around the fallen body of Eriboth.
END
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Bloodless Page 97