by Jeff Gunzel
“It’s even worse than I remember,” Azek mumbled under his breath. That simple admission did little to calm Anna.
Anna covered her nose and mouth. The tangy scent of urine wafted up from the town, riding on the soft breeze. The streets remained soft and damp year-round, because the sewer system was completely inadequate. “A wonder any civilized person could get used to this smell,” she said, not even trying to hide her disgust.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Azek, sounding very irritated all of a sudden. “You won’t be here that long. Now let’s go, I want this over with.” He began marching down the loose sand, his feet sliding with each step.
For a moment, Anna entertained the idea of running. She watched his back, wondering if there would ever be a better chance than this. Those fleeting aspirations built on pure desperation vanished like smoke when he stopped and looked back. It was as if he could read her thoughts. Feeling foolish for thinking she could just turn and run, she stepped lightly, trying not to slide any more than she already was.
The hill was not really that steep, but the sand seemed to give way with each step. “Now that we’re here, will you at least tell me what happened?” she asked. “How did it come to this?”
“What are you talking about?” he growled over his shoulder.
“Well, I heard what you mumbled back there, and I saw the look on your face. I’m not stupid. This is where the Shad...uh...this is where ‘you’ made a name for yourself. Isn’t it?” His pace slowed, but he said nothing. “This was your home,” she added. He stopped, still looking down at the rundown town. “Am I wrong?” she pressed.
He sighed, then turned to face her. “No, you are not wrong,” he admitted. “For years I ran this sleazy town. It seems so long ago now,” he said softly, more to himself.
“How did someone your age wind up with such power?” she asked.
His eyes seemed to go out of focus as he thought back. “I was only a teen when Grandol Humbock took me in. He was a cold-hearted man, feared by all. He ran this town with an iron fist, making examples out of anyone who crossed him. Yet he saw something in me and he took me in as his personal student. Not only did he teach me how to use a blade, he taught me how to be a leader.” His voice lowered. “He transformed me into a killer. I think...deep down inside...I hated him for that.”
“So this is the man you are taking me to?” asked Anna. “This…Grandol?”
“No. He’s dead now,” said Azek, his voice void of emotion. He shook his head. “His killer was never discovered, but most believed it was me, seeing as how I was next in line to take over. I never admitted nor denied slitting his throat while he slept. I figured it was best to let the men come to their own conclusions. The things a man can dream up when he’s uncertain are almost always worse than reality. It was my way of keeping them in line.”
“One would have to travel pretty far to have never heard of the Shadow,” said Anna. “But no one knew where you lived, or even if you were real. Your reputation was more like that of a ghost. Plenty of scary stories to tell while sitting around a fire, but not a single witness as to whether or not this legend really existed.”
“Few of my enemies ever lived to tell of me, I’m afraid,” he said. There was no boasting in his voice. He was simply stating a fact. “Grandol left me some very large shoes to fill. The men followed me, mostly because they were afraid of me. My actions toward my enemies during the following years did nothing to relieve them of that fear. If someone proved to be a threat and needed to die...they did.” Anna shivered at his calm demeanor. “I wasn’t obvious or brutal about it. There was never any torture to speak of. Their deaths were quiet, always unseen. I even disposed of their bodies so there wouldn’t be any evidence. Let their allies wonder what had really happened to them. Rumors and mystery always worked well to help drive fear into my enemies. Because of my silent methods, they soon gave me a name. A name I haven’t been able to shake, no matter how hard I tried.”
“Shadow,” Anna whispered under her breath. She shook her head as if coming out of a trance. “But what happened? Why are you—”
“I left,” he said, simply. “After a time I didn’t want that life anymore. Funny how that works sometimes,” he scratched his neck in thought. “I had climbed to the top of the ladder, and had no equal in stature or skill with a blade. Yet once I achieved this, it felt as though I had accomplished nothing. I had always wanted to be the best. To become more feared than any man alive. Yet, being surrounded by like-minded thugs, it all suddenly seemed so pointless. Everyone had the same goal, and not one of them would ever be content until that goal was realized.”
“And you’re going to just hand me over to them?” said Anna, her body beginning to feel numb.
Azek just smiled at her. “Why, yes,” he said casually. “I’ve just shared a large bit of my own history with you. I’ve been gone a long time, but I still have connections here. At the end of the day, the wolves’ lair are not like the blood pack. It will just be business as usual. As I promised you already, you will be safe in their care.” He began walking again.
“You haven’t been a part of this underground world for a long time,” Anna muttered under her breath. “How can you be so sure? Again, you make promises based on memories.”
The streets were empty and eerily quiet. Azek pointed to a tavern called The Boar’s Tooth. He pulled his hood forward so it concealed his face, then motioned for her to follow. Cautiously, he pushed through the double swinging doors. Anna slinked up behind him, pressing herself close to his back. She found it odd that she actually felt safer at the side of her captor than being near any of this rough-looking bunch.
The sickly sweet smell that hung in the air hit them immediately: a foul combination of tobacco smoke and unwashed bodies. However, the tavern seemed surprising lively, considering how desolate the streets were. In one corner, a group of unshaven men with greasy hair laughed drunkenly, throwing cards down on a table. Half-naked serving maids strolled back and forth with trays full of mugs, either all empty or all full, depending which direction they were headed. The occasional smack on their backsides prodded them on. Depending on which girl got smacked, most men received anything from a hateful glare to a playful wink.
Lanterns hung around the room flickered their soft light. The moving light seemed to give life to the multiple trophy heads mounted around the room. Bear, boar, and large snake heads seemed to gaze about while reflecting the light in their polished teeth. The bartender—a heavyset man who looked to be the only one here who knew what a razor was—eyed them unblinkingly while wiping a mug with his apron. The apron itself looked much filthier than the mug.
Azek grabbed Anna by the arm and led her to a booth in the corner. A quick shove found her sliding across the seat, shoulder smacking the wall. She glared at him, caught off guard by his sudden aggression. “Wait here,” Azek said, turning away before she could answer. Once again, Anna felt the urge to run. To flee into the streets, calling for help to anyone who would listen. But deep down inside she knew better. Who in this forsaken town would help her? If anything, the locals might end up fighting over who got to claim her as their private property.
Her wandering eyes nervously met the gaze of a man in the corner. She only now realized he had been staring at her for some time. The grizzled man had greasy blond hair, and what looked like a thin patch of skin covering where his eye should have been. Hunched and mangy, he winked at her with his one good eye. When he opened his toothless mouth, a thin, blackish tongue slid out like a snake’s and licked his horribly chapped lips. Horrified, she looked away, now going to extreme lengths not to look back in that direction.
Desperate to ground herself with something familiar, she found herself gazing at the back of Azek’s cloak as he spoke with the bartender. She hated him...loathed him. At least...she wanted to hate him. The man had dragged her here against her will, all for the sake of turning a profit at her expense. Yet she felt less safe when he was farthe
r away. His intentions were greedy, yet he had been honest about that since the beginning. Twisted as it seemed, there was a sense of honor in that. When he told her she would get home safe and unharmed, against all common sense, she believed him. I must be going mad. And what are those two talking about?
“What’ll it be?” the tavern keeper said offhandedly. He was too busy making glasses filthier with his apron to look directly at the cloaked figure.
“Information,” said Azek, his cloak still drooped low over his face.
The heavyset man chuckled—a dry lifeless sound—before placing the freshly smeared mug back on the rack. “Maybe I’ll just get you an ale and then send you on your way. You and your pretty little wench over there.” He pointed with his chin. “Trust me, stranger, I’m doing you a favor. Soft folk like you two won’t last long around here.”
“I didn’t ask for a drink,” said Azek. “I want to ask you some questions.”
The big man placed his large hands up on the counter and tried to peek underneath Azek’s hood. “I think it might be best if the two of you leave right now.”
“Who is in charge here these days?” Azek asked, voice calm and icy. “Tell me who runs the town and where to find them. Then I’ll be on my way.”
The big man stared at the hooded figure, his eye twitching with growing anger. “Seems to me your chances of leaving my tavern alive just flew out the door.” Two men, each larger than the tavern keeper, began advancing on Azek from either side of the bar.
“Well then. It seems to me my patience with you is at its end,” snarled Azek. Enraged, the tavern keeper lashed out, hand reaching in an attempt to grab the neck of this arrogant stranger—a slow, clumsy maneuver to the skilled fighter’s eyes. With minimal effort, Azek smoothly caught the big man’s wrist, then twisted hard, sending him shoulder first onto the bar. Facing up at the ceiling helplessly, the big man howled in pain. In a flash, the cold steel of Azek’s dagger slid under his chin. “Call them off or all three of you die.” There was only mild annoyance in Azek’s voice. No anger. He was simply stating a fact.
Pinned to the bar, eyes wide with shock, the tavern keeper shouted, “Get back! Both of you.”
The surprised goons stopped their advance, then threw their hands in the air, backing away. Azek could hear all kinds of commotion behind him: chairs scooting across the floor and the heavy clap of footsteps running for the door. Azek leaned down close to the frightened man’s ear. “Now I suggest you find the person I was asking about,” he whispered. “Tell him I want to speak to him. Go now, before I decide you are no longer any use to me.” For emphasis, he slid the flat edge of the dagger across the man’s throat before it disappeared back under his cloak.
The big man sat up and rolled off the bar. Holding his neck with one hand, he backed around the side, then ran for the door. From the corner, Anna cleared her throat in an attempt to get Azek’s attention. He turned to see her, arms hugging her knees up to her chest. “So...that was your brilliant plan?” she said dryly.
He took the seat across from her. “I was forced to improvise,” he said with a shrug. “Whoever is running the town these days now knows I’m here.”
“So what are you going to do now?” she asked.
His gaze swept across the empty room, across chairs and toppled tables scattered about. Spilled drinks and wet cards laid scattered across the floor. “We wait.”
* * *
“I don’t have anything else for you to take,” cried the man down on his knees. Two other men stood at his sides pinning his shoulders and head forward. Gaunt from hunger and dressed in rags, he wiped away a tear with the back of his hand. “You must believe me!”
Arkare Chijaki gazed down on the pitiful wretch. Nearly seven feet tall, with a lean hard body carved from wood, his bold presence seemed to fill the room. He had blond hair slicked back into a long braid, and was covered from head to toe in black leather that seemed to have a shine to it. The black suit had a series of razor-sharp blades riding up each wrist like shark fins, and a third larger set that rode down the spine of his back. He stood there rolling a small device around in his palm while gazing at the man, his ice-blue eyes standing out sharply against the black suit.
Arkare leaned down, holding out what appeared to be a handheld guillotine. “Did we not just have this conversation a week ago?” asked Arkare in a soft, gentle voice that sounded bored and disinterested. “The wolves’ lair has given you more than enough time to pay your debt. Have we not shown you nothing but patience?” The thin man began to whimper, slobber dripping down the front of his torn shirt. Arkare gave the device in his hand a quick squeeze. With a clicking sound, a tiny blade snapped up and down. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to pay your debt in a slightly different fashion.” Despite the threatening words, his soft voice still sounded as if he had just woken up.
“No! No, please!” the thin man shrieked, struggling futilely against the mercenaries holding him. His hand was forced outward, fingers extended. When he tried to pull his fingers back into a fist, an explosion of pain erupted through the back of his head in a white flash that barely left him conscious.
“There is no sense in struggling,” Arkare said in that bored, offhanded manner. “Now then...” He slipped the man’s pinky finger into the device, and promptly gave it a snap. All the poor man’s senses seem to return at once. A burst of fiery pain shot through his hand. He screamed as the bloody finger bounced off the floor.
With a renewed sense of urgency, he began to thrash wildly, but the frail man was quickly overpowered. “Stop, please!” he wailed shamelessly. “You’ve taken everything already. I have no ability to pay you no matter what you do to me. Mutilating me won’t change that!”
Arkare looked hurt all of a sudden. “My good man,” he said, feigning compassion. “This is no longer about trying to convince you to pay your debt. You’ll do that anyway.” He leaned in closer, those ice-blue eyes peering right into the man’s soul. “In times like these, I try to make the most out of a bad situation. In other words, I just do this for fun.” The man wailed again, a terror-filled cry that could only come from a complete feeling of despair and hopelessness.
Without warning, the door burst open and in ran a short man with thinning red hair. More often than not, Arkare would have made an immediate example out of him for interrupting his pleasure, but the panicked look on the little man’s face was enough to pull Arkare away from his game.
“Trouble,” he blurted out breathlessly. “Trouble at The Boar’s Tooth Tavern. There’s a stranger causing problems. He said he is looking for—”
Arkare’s disgusted look cut him off. “One man, you say? You’re interrupting my work because a single man is causing a disturbance?” He waved away the minor nuisance, refocusing his attention to the task at hand. “Handle it. Just kill him if that makes things simpler for you.” There came another snapping sound followed by a bloodcurdling scream, then a bloody ring finger falling to the floor.
“I recognize the man in question,” came a second voice from the doorway. “And I advise that you give this issue your full attention, sir.”
Arkare didn’t turn around, but he recognized the voice. Fed up with the endless stream of interruptions, he pulled a dagger from his boot and slashed the wretched man’s neck. A wave of blood splashed across the floor as if thrown from a bucket. The ensuing cry was more of a wet gurgle than an actual scream. The dying man rolled around helplessly, clutching at the gash while the buzzing sound of air leaving his lungs radiated from his open throat. Arkare stood to his full height and moved towards the door.
“You now have my full attention, Verck,” he growled, more than a little irritated at having to end the game sooner than he wanted. “That is what you wanted, correct? And just who is this man you say you recognize, and why should I care?”
Verck held his ground, meeting Arkare’s glare. “The man is a stranger to many here, but not to my eyes. Who is he? He goes by many names. But you might
know him as your…predecessor.” Arkare’s expression changed little, but he did raise an eyebrow in wonder. “And what’s more, he is asking for you.”
Arkare’s expression grew dark. A sudden grimace revealed four golden fangs. No one knew for certain why he had his teeth filed that way. Intimidation perhaps? They had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and no one dared to ask. “Yes, I’ve heard plenty of tales. Quite the reputation that one has.”
“Well, perhaps you will listen to a few more from a person who knows him well,” said Verck, holding out a hand to stop Arkare from leaving. “Some of us have served under the Shadow, and believe me, he is not to be taken lightly.”
“Am I to be taken lightly?” snarled Arkare.
“Of course not,” Verck added quickly, trying to defuse the growing tension. “But I offer intimate knowledge about this man, if you’re willing to give me a moment.” Arkare’s lips pressed together. “He must have traveled a long way to speak with you, so I’m sure he’s not leaving anytime soon,” said Verck, answering the unasked question. “I suggest you take a moment and listen to me. You must understand who you’re dealing with.”
* * *
An almost eerie calm hung in the air. The tavern that had been so active and lively just a short time ago was now deathly quiet. A large rodent scampered across the bar, squeaking in glee now that the room was empty. It began its journey, running from plate to plate, feasting on crumbs and half-eaten portions of mutton and pork.
Anna trembled in her seat near the wall, clasping her hands together in an attempt to stop them from shaking. “What am I to do?” she said in a fluttery, terrified voice.