“You two! Outside! Now!” Maerek ordered, gesturing at the four men and then pointing at the door. The tavern went silent and everyone stared at the sailors. Maerek pointed forcefully at the door again and they all walked, single file out into the street, Maerek taking up the rear.
Once outside, Maerek pointed them toward the main street and then down an alley way that went between the Kelp’s Catch and an apothecary building.
“If you have business, you do it here,” Maerek said. “This is my tavern, and I ain't havin’ the likes of you in it ever again.” Maerek held out his hand toward Reech’s companion. “Give me your knife.”
“What?” the man said, reaching inside his boot. Maerek shook his head, pursed his lips and glared at the man. “Easy then, nice and easy then,” the man said finally, slowly pulling the second knife from his boot and placing it, handle first in Maerek’s hand.
“You have until the count of ten, and then I am going to throw this knife at one of you.”
Each of the four men started running down the alley way as Maerek started to count loudly.
“One. Two. Three.”
By the time he got to seven, they had each made it past the alley way and turned down another street. Maerek smiled and turned the knife in his hand. He wasn’t going to hit them with the knife, and if he did make it to ten prior to them being out of eye shot, he wasn’t about to throw away a good blade.
There was a back door into Kelp’s Catch that went into the kitchen, and from there, Maerek could nonchalantly walk into the dining area as if nothing happened. As he opened the door, putting some force into the pull as the door frame was warped from the warm, moist ocean air, someone had turned down the alley way and stopped, emphasizing their stop with a resounding “thud” of their walking staff into the stone paved road. Maerek heard the individual coming as he threatened the four men who were starting a fight at the Catch but thought nothing of it. When the individual stopped in the alley way, and thudded their staff on the stones, Maerek didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Maerek said, slowly shutting the door. “But I would have anticipated you to be escorted by an entourage of sorts.”
“I could never take you by force,” said the Seer as he walked closer to Maerek. “You have proven that on multiple occasions, but there are other ways for someone to be held captive without the use of force. As we talk, your band of traders is camping a few days due west of this Port. There is another group of guardsmen that are working under my direction, and if I do not return to them by the end of this evening, they are to kill everyone in the nomadic caravan.”
Maerek turned the knife again in his hand and held it loosely as he turned toward the Seer. The Seer was just as Vilheim had shown him. An older man in a simple brown robe, tied about the middle with a cord, and necklace with a dragon bone of some kind hanging about his chest. Maerek thought of throwing the knife, of running at the Seer and plunging the blade into that tainted body, but he had never fought a Conduit before, and wasn’t sure what to expect. The best way to remove the unexpected was to act quickly. He would have to get close, and it would have to be quick.
“You are planning on me coming with you then?” Maerek asked, taking an inquisitive step forward.
“Yes, you and the female. A breeding pair would be a good addition to my collection.”
“And if we refuse?” Maerek quietly hissed and took a couple more cautious steps forward, glancing quickly from side to side, as if to look for any passersby.
“If you refuse,” the Seer whispered and took a couple steps closer, his walking staff clicking on the stone walkway, “I will stay in this port, and your band of traders will be killed.” Maerek took a few more steps closer until he and the Seer stood at arms-reach. “Maerek, you and I are smarter than this. You and I both know that the dull knife you hold cannot kill me. You cannot kill me, I should say.”
“I killed Simmons,” Maerek growled, gripping the knife tighter.
“Correct, and I suppose I misspoke. I should have said that you won’t kill me, not when your traders hang in the balance.”
Maerek breathed heavily out of his nose, hot air with traces of smoke jetting out onto the robes of the Seer. The Seer simply smiled back, two full gleaming rows of amber-colored teeth in a cruel and savage smile. Maerek listened closely to the Seer’s vitals. His heart rate was steady, his body calm and relaxed. There were no subtle twitches of nervousness. The Seer didn’t look away as he spoke either. The Seer looked down at the knife in Maerek’s hand, shook his head and sighed.
“We are better than this,” the Seer said.
“I am better than this, yes,” Maerek smiled as he spoke. “You, you are simply a usable piece in a greater scheme. The plotting and planning of all the troops that I and the traders faced, it was all too elaborate for a human to plan on their own. Who helped you?”
“You and I are much more alike than you think,” the Seer said with a chuckle.
“Human, do not take me for a fool,” Maerek snarled, turning the blade in his hand. “And though I can’t kill you this way,” Maerek pulled out the blade and held it between them. In that moment, Maerek thought of the assault on Moving Mountain, his brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and all those who died, and all others of his kin who were slaughtered under the Seer’s direction.
As he looked at the Seer, he could only see him as a threat, one that had to be removed. Anger welled up inside him like a growing fire. His heart began to race, blood surging through his body, pumping him with energy. Yet something didn’t add up. Maerek couldn’t imagine the Seer being one who would show up on a hope that a dragon would believe his stories. The Seer would have known of that. Perhaps it was an act of desperation, perhaps the last option that he had to preserver his life. But that didn’t make sense either. The Seer was meticulous, thoughtful, every detail planned out to ensure success.
Maerek was able to outsmart and outlast him thus far. There was something more to his coming, and something told him that the answer was in Vilheim’s desire to have the Seer killed, that it was deeper than a betrayal of loyalty.
“You betrayed Vilheim,” Maerek said slowly. At the mention of Vilheim, the Seer’s eyes widened in fear. “He asked me to kill you. But his desire for your death runs deeper than betrayal. You will tell me why he wants you dead.”
“Promise me first that you will lead the female to me.” Maerek thought that over, not necessarily considering the proposal, but considering the vagueness of the proposal.
“I can promise that,” Maerek said, nodding once.
“Good.” The Seer smiled again and nodded in return. “Vilheim is envious of my… talents as it were. I believe he has found a way to extract my ability from me once I am dead. For whatever reason, he desires the ability to See, and without the complications of loyalty. How he would do this, I am unsure. What I am sure of, is that for this to happen, I need to be dead.
“Maerek, you can trust me on this account. Vilheim cannot be trusted. He is planning something, scheming something, planning his return maybe, but if he does return, he will be unstoppable. You will not be able to hurt him or harm him on any account. All of your strength, all of your cunning and power, it will mean nothing against him.”
Maerek turned the blade in his hand again, looking at the metal as it reflected from the dim lamp-light that ebbed its way into the alley. He thought back on his conversation with Mearto and his conversation with Vilheim, and of the binding of life forces. Perhaps it was that Vilheim lacked the strength to unbind his life from the Seer’s. Yet if he had not bound his life to another servant, the death of the Seer would mean his own death.
Maerek looked up from his knife and glared at the Seer.
“How many more people do you think Vilheim has the strength to bind to his own life?” Maerek asked.
“At most, two. One other for sure. And if you protect me from Vilheim’s servants, and come w
ith me, you would be successful on two accounts. You will end the hunting of your race, and you will be able to stop Vilheim. His only play will be two send his one or two servants after us, and then you and Mearto kill them. After that, Vilheim will continue to diminish.”
“Yet as long as you live, he will live. You will be the last one that we need to kill,” replied Maerek in a calm, conversational tone.
“I do not seek long life, just a full one. When the time is right, I will gladly let you end me, just as you promised.”
Maerek didn’t take much time to think over the proposition. The only concern that caused Maerek some hesitation was the possible harm that would come to his traders and the nomadic caravan. There was a chance that Maerek could return to the caravan that night and warn them of the danger and save the traders once more.
That chance was worth more than a lifetime of servitude to the Seer.
“Tell me Seer, what have you See? Do I agree to take Mearto and come with you, or do you and I die in this alley tonight?” The Seer’s eyes glazed, and he looked past Maerek, into the near future.
“I see you agreeing to my proposal with a blood promise, using the knife you hold. With that agreement, we come to an understanding that your race will no longer be hunted, and that my life would be in your hands after a given time.”
Maerek smiled and laughed as the Seer came out of his trance.
“Then with a blood promise, I will accept your proposal, and that your life is in my hands after a given time.” Maerek took the knife and dragged the blade across his hand, his palm filling with blood. Then he took the Seer’s hand and did the same. The Seer winced at first and then gripped Maerek’s hand firmly.
“It is done,” the Seer said. They shook once and then released. The Seer quickly closed his hand in a fist and set it by his side, blood drops splattering on the stones.
“And it is time,” Maerek replied quickly, and grabbed the Seer by the throat pulled him close.
“What?! No!” the Seer croaked through an already half-closed windpipe as he was yanked forward.
“I may not be able to kill you with this dull knife,” Maerek said, turning the knife over and over in his hand. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t feel pain.” Maerek squeezed tighter, his thick, muscular hand crushing the aorta, his thumb squeezing the Seer’s larynx. The Seer grabbed at Maerek’s hands, striking down on his iron hard arms, jamming his walking stick into Maerek’s gut, but Maerek didn’t flinch, he only squeezed tighter, listening to the muscles, sinews, veins and arteries snap, pop and burst. Maerek grinned as the Seer began to go limp.
“Your brain still needs oxygen and blood to keep you moving, to keep you thinking, to keep your heart pumping the tainted blood through your system and keep you alive.” The Seer was now squirming, staffed dropped and fingers attempting to dig into Maerek and somehow break the grip. “We never agreed on when the given time would be, and for the briefest moments, Mearto and I were going with you, but not too far before your appointed time it seems.”
The Seer gave one last great thrashing, trying to break free from Maerek’s strength, but there was nothing he could do. Maerek listened as the Seer’s heart raced frantically, attempting to push blood up to the brain, to keep things moving, stay living. A few frantic moments later, the Seer’s heart slowed, and then gave its last pump. Maerek lifted the Seer, the Seer’s feet and arms dangling like a rag doll, and with a heave, he jerked the body one way, and then another without letting go. There was an audible crack as the spinal cord snapped and bone splintered.
Maerek still wasn’t sure if the taint that was in him would facilitate a regrowth of such damaged material. Instantly, he reflected back on his encounter with Simmons, and thought better of it. The knife was indeed dull, and the beheading would be messy and brutal. Maerek shook his head at the thought, as it reminded him of what certain hunters under the direction of the Seer must have done to other dragons.
Maerek huffed again, and lowered the body gently, stood over it, lifted the head of the Seer, and placed the blade of the knife across the crushed larynx. The essence of the act wasn’t any different than when he had killed Simmons, but each time Maerek prepared to drag the blade across the throat, he thought of his cousins, his brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles who were killed in his keep’s ambush, of their blood that was spilt in the same manner.
“I’m not one of them,” Maerek whispered to himself as he pulled back the knife.
“Do you have the strength to do that which is required?” The questioner spoke from a rooftop above and behind where Maerek hunched over the Seer. The building was three stories tall, and the windows were dark. Maerek remembered from earlier that day that the main floor was a smith and tool repair shop. The upper levels must have been where the owner and his workers slept and stayed during the night. Interestingly, the questioner spoke softly for human ears, but enough so that Maerek could hear him clearly above the sounds of the ocean.
“Who asks?” Maerek replied, again holding the dulled blade against the fragile and bruised neck of the Seer. Without a reply, the figure leapt down from the roof and glided toward Maerek, his cloak fluttering behind him like a set of wings. He landed softly, taking only a couple steps toward the Maerek. In his left hand, he held a wooden staff that had a dark red hue. In his right hand, he carried a sword that looked familiar. The blade was wide, and as it caught the lantern light of the alley way, it too, reflected a similar dark red tint. The man had a fresh scar traveling across his left brow, down across his eye, across the bridge of his nose, and ending above the corner of his right lip. Sweat that beaded on his head shimmered in the light. He wore a white shirt and pants with a green stripe running up each side. His clothes were covered in soot and singed in places from a recent fire. His cloak showed obvious signs of wear, tattered and riddled with holes, something obviously found in the desert.
“I know that sword,” Maerek said, concern rising in his voice. “It belonged to a desert dweller named Iserum. How came you by it?”
“My name is Erith Moregod. My father spoke to you of me. This,” Erith held out the sword and showed it to Maerek, turning it in his hand, “was never Iserum’s, nor the owner before him. It is my father’s sword, and it was intended for another to be given to, but he has forgotten his path. Now, it comes to you, for you to finish the work my father cannot.”
“Why aren’t you the one to give the killing stroke? Why me?”
“It is meant as a means for you to fulfil your oath you made to Boshk. I have heard much since your coming and have seen much prior to.”
“How are you able to give me this? The traders and Iserum are a week or so away.”
“There are other paths by which I travel, and other means by which this sword comes to you. Take it, that you might slay the enemies of your kin.”
Maerek tensed at the memories of Moving Mountain, the last images he saw of his family, of his kin, and now the end of it rested in his hands. Shaking, he dropped the knife. It clanged on the ground before resting between his feet. Slowly, he reached out toward Erith. Erith turned the handle of the sword toward Maerek, and extended, reaching toward the dragon, as the dragon reached toward the blade.
The killing stroke was quick, and the beheading was quicker. Black, oily blood pooled beneath the body, and the pale head of the dead Seer rested in Maerek’s hand. It didn’t feel right. The death, the beheading, and the rush of revenge that he expected, similar to the death of Simmons, left him empty and cold. The dragon turned the head in his hand and looked at the glazed eyes of the Seer, for once, unseeing.
“I am not one of you,” Maerek whispered as he let the head fall from his hands and splatter in the pool of tainted blood at his feet. The head rested on the ground like a casually cast stone.
“I will ensure the traders and nomads are safe,” Erith said softly and evenly.
“That is something I can do on my own. Why does Vilheim need to come back?” Erith did not answer at first, but
walked over to the head of the Seer, squatted down, and looked intently at the eyes.
“To rectify a wrong. Do you know of the Seep’s in the northern portions of Tessír?”
“I know they occur. What of them?”
“The action of the Seer has made them worse, some past the point of repair given the skill and ability of the Conduits currently. These Seeps will grow until the entire world is a wasteland. The city and region of Varlette loses ground daily. It will be lost soon. Vilheim will be able to reclaim it.”
“And this is to be done with more blood of my kindred? I cannot stand for this.”
“I do not hunt your kind. One was my maternal figure. There is an honor there that I would not betray.” Maerek paused and then nodded. From the heart beat and respiratory rate, he could tell Erith spoke the truth. There was emotion, a fondness even in his voice, for Mearto and for the dragon race.
“How much blood is needed?” Maerek asked, prying for more information.
“Little.”
“Mearto said that much more blood would need to be collected in order to do what you are planning.”
“She is wrong. She is arrogant in her knowledge. I will only need-”
“And that you will need another forced Conduit of our specie in order to accomplish this.”
Erith paused and took another cautious, almost inconsequential step back. There was no emotion in his face, anger, or thought. His was a flat, blank expression, unreadable.
“If I die, your traders will die.”
In that split second, Maerek thought of the traders, of their sacrifice in helping him rescue Mearto. He thought about all the trouble he placed them in, the pains and near-death experiences they went through. Were their lives worth the thwarting the plans of Vilheim? Even if his aim was to repair the Seeps of the north, what would he do after? There was still too much that he didn’t know.
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