by Jordan Cramm
He found one of the weapons merchants with ease. He was familiar with Akartha territory after all, and had little trouble navigating. As he walked into the large stone structure, he examined several large weapons that were laid out upon tables throughout the interior of the building. Guards were posted everywhere in case anyone had ideas about stealing, and merchants walked up and down walkways behind the various tables, eying the merchandise and checking on their customers. One approached Nambrin with a smile and asked what Nambrin was looking for.
“Looking for?” Nambrin responded.
The merchant nodded and spoke. “Yes well, anyone who comes here is looking for something. A collecting hobby perhaps, or something for practical use?”
Nambrin understood now what the merchant meant.
“Practical matters…” Nambrin said calmly.
The Izenian merchant clapped his hands together with a smile and asked if Nambrin had seen anything in particular.
“I have been on a long journey,” Nambrin said, “and my primary weapon was compromised in the field. Is that a Katuk blade I see there?”
The merchant smiled and nodded as he spoke. “You seem to know your weapons. It is a Katuk blade yes. And I could let it go for two thousand platinum coins. You will notice the fine craftsmanship of the blade itself, made of mithril and the grips upon it are tied solid. At that price it really is a steal. So, shall it bare a new owner today then?”
Nambrin lowered his head slightly and spoke in a soft tone. “I don’t have two thousand platinum…”
The merchant nodded and began to walk away until Nambrin grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Wait…I don’t have that amount of coins on me, but I do have these…”
Nambrin opened his hand with his palm facing upwards. In his hand were three large diamonds, the size of eyeballs, each shining brilliantly. Their worth was more than the value of the weapon Nambrin chose, but it didn’t matter because he wanted to be sure to get what he wanted. And so with lust in his eyes, the merchant agreed to the trade at once. Nambrin said that part of the deal for the Katuk blade was that no one would report one being sold, or to whom. The merchant eagerly agreed given the purchase price.
Nambrin took his weapon out of the shop at once. He was almost ready. He held the weapon in his hands a moment. The Katuk blade was a crescent-shaped weapon, with a razor sharp edge on the interior of the blade and exterior. Both ends of its crescent shape came to deadly points. On the backside of the weapon were two grips over the metal itself—the only place the wielder could grab the blade without cutting themselves in the process. He held it high in the air with both hands a moment, examining its arc and then he brought it lower. From crescent point to point, the blade was nearly four feet long. And with a sharp interior edge for slicing and cutting, it was very deadly.
Nambrin strolled through town for the remainder of the morning. Eleven chimes came and went, then twelve, and one…he didn’t care that he was on foot. He had a mission to do and that’s what he would do. He reached a part of town he was suddenly very familiar with; a place he once lost his love many years ago. He knelt down in a thin layer of snowfall that had not yet melted on the ground, and he suddenly felt the pain of a flashback.
Before Knighthood, Nambrin had been a young Katuk warrior. The Katuks were one of the many tribes of the Izenian people, and Nambrin’s place among them was a secure one. In those days, tribes warred with one another constantly, each fighting for control of Izenian people as a whole, and each interested in territory, resources and reputation. It was a time of clan wars. Nambrin himself was the best warrior of the Katuk tribe, but he wasn’t yet leader. He would be soon though.
He had his own Izenian war horse. He had his own tribal horn of power. And he blew that horn loudly to call for help the day he had been ambushed by another tribal clan. He had been on an otherwise normal ride with Shyrie, the woman who captured his attention when he wasn’t fighting for his own tribal clan. While out riding, other nomadic warriors attacked, and Nambrin did the best he could to fend them off. He fought not only for himself he knew, but also for her. Nambrin downed many warriors from the opposing tribal clan. Four, five, six…he stopped counting. Between the clash of weapons, he brought his horn to his lips and blew it hard. He knew he was in the midst of a losing battle. He feared for himself and for her—more for her than for himself. He was born and bred for the life. But she was innocent. She never took part in the tribal clan wars. She was a tailor, nothing more.
He could see her face clearly. Her eyes went wide as the sword pierced through her chest from behind. Nambrin could not fight them all. His horn calls had gone unanswered. No other Katuk clan member was in the area, or if so, they were not coming to his aid. He saw her drop first to her knees—the look of shock, panic and pain washed over her face like the snow over the land. Then she fell forward and Nambrin saw the attacker, wiping blood from the sword. Nambrin stood and fought with fury after that. He never did recall the number of those he killed, but when it was over, he was covered in blood, and the blood pooled everywhere in the thick deep snow.
Nambrin blinked. The snow now was thin, barely upon the land now at all. He saw houses in the distance where once there had been nothing but open grounds covered in blood. It didn’t matter though. He saw the stone formations in the distance, and knew that despite the changes to the area over time, he was where he once fought furiously. He thought it was ironic that his plans now involved more spilled blood—even more Izenian blood.
He continued walking until reaching his destination. He asked for directions to the place only once, and when he got there, he kicked the door in forcefully. His eyes swept left and right; nothing. He listened intently a moment, but he heard nothing. He stepped forward, moving beyond the entryway of the home. The only odd thing Nambrin noted so far was that the trimming around the main door to the home seemed to be slightly charred black, as though it had been on fire. Nambrin couldn’t be sure though. However, as he took a few steps into the home and looked back at the open door, he saw that black charring spread out to the walls as if the door itself had once been on fire.
Nambrin tucked the last thought in the back of his mind. After all, he wasn’t there to learn about post fire damage. He had a job to do, and he would do it. So quietly he moved through the house, brandishing his Katuk blade and hunting his prey until he heard the sound of footsteps coming from the ceiling above him.
He was upstairs quickly and silently. The look of terror on her face was miserable when he struck with the force and power of his old life. He hacked her up nicely, from shoulder down to waist in a diagonal fashion, then slashing across her throat. Her head was severed with the last cut, and it fell with a plop to the floor. He looked in her eyes once the head was off the body. Her detached face told the story of the horror that happened only seconds before.
After that, Nambrin swept through the rest of the house but found no one else there. Nambrin regretted his actions, and while doing them hated the control over him that made him do so. Nonetheless, she was dead, and dead at his hands and at the end of his blade. Now though he had to complete his work, which would take more crafty measures.
He returned to her dead body, looking over it once more, but emotionless as he did so. His own hand had been forced and he had no choice. He took another swing of the Katuk blade, embedding it into her body, striking her to the chest. Blood poured out around the embedded blade point, and Nambrin rummaged in his pockets for the parchment that would further develop his master’s plot and further spiral Izenian people into trouble. He used a leather strip that was very thin to tie the note to the weapon that stood embedded in the woman’s chest. He looked it over carefully.
“Darkmoon family: Now behold the price of the blood feud begun so long ago. Began in blood and now so ended in blood. The time has come for the fallen to rise again and new alliances to be forged. At last free of the icy shadows, we the Katuk clan will rise once more and take our vengeance a
s we once did. The blood of your line will wash our blades clean.”
Nambrin shook his head. The trickery and plot would almost truly be fitting of old Katuk guile, but he knew that this was not truly the work of the Katuk tribal clan. But the note, the blade in the chest…those were once trademark symbols of Katuk assassinations, and so it was made to seem. Wolflen’s mother was now lifeless on the second story of her own home. It was to be so in the event that Nambrin did not encounter Wolflen Darkmoon.
For while it was true that the tribal clans had long ago bonded together for the purpose of Izenian unity, it was also true that many still claimed to be part of various tribal clans for the purpose of remembering their ancestry. Plus, many still remembered the old ways, even if they were so very long ago.
After that, Nambrin slipped quietly out of the house. He left the door open as he had kicked it open. It was partially broken in the interior of the home now anyway. On his way out though, he reasoned that the fire damage on the wall along the doorway must be fire damage, and that it was probably the War Mage who put it there to begin with. Nambrin shuttered. He hoped he never had to fight a War Mage.
Then calmly and quietly, Nambrin returned to the streets of Akartha, humming as he strode along. “It is only a matter of time…” Nambrin said eerily as he grinned and continued humming. Then he put those words to song, singing them cheerily as he strolled through the city.
Chapter 19: Breaking the Ice
Ravenshade smiled as she looked down at the floor. Wolflen knew that she must have a thousand ideas in her head, including the idea to kill him. Still, he knew he could not give up. He needed information badly. He didn’t know why he felt that way either. Perhaps it was the War Magic urging him onward, but he felt the need to know what he was up against; what enemies lined against him now. He also felt that for some reason, perhaps the Night Elves could later be counted as allies in the war to come. He knew of course that the Elves would strongly disagree; maybe even with the tip of a sword. But Wolflen had to try.
“You cannot promise me my life you say,” Ravenshade announced, “then what power to make promises do you have?”
Wolflen swallowed hard and thought about it for a moment.
“You are right Ravenshade. I cannot guarantee that I can save your life. I can promise you that I will do what I can to do so, if you have valuable information for me. The Elves may or may not listen to my instruction. But tell me something, how does Mortican normally reward failure? You told me before that he would help catapult the name and reputation of your people into the mainstream and make it so that your people are not so hated by all. But here you are captured. Surely he will call Night Elves enemies now, or at least use them only for his own purposes and not with good will toward your people.”
She looked up at him as though she were now staring into his soul. He felt a little nervous when she did it, as if he could feel her searching his mind. He reminded himself however, that she had no magic in her cell, and that her stare was just a physically intense stare; nothing more.
“So what are you saying War Mage?”
He was slow to respond, but he spoke clearly.
“Well, I will do my best to sway the Elves to let you live, if the information you provide is valuable. I cannot make them let you live however. But I am Izenian myself. And my father is a man of influence among my people, not to mention that the voice of an Izenian War Mage should carry much weight among the Izenian people. So while I cannot control the viewpoints of the Elves, most certainly I could grant your people favor from the Izenian people.”
Ravenshade began to laugh at once.
“Izenian lands then eh? Cold lands for the Night Elf? That is amusing. And I suppose we might even last one whole winter there. Maybe.”
Wolflen sunk lower into his chair a moment.
“Look, you have a chance to better your people’s name, to mainstream your people and forge an alliance with the Izenian people here and now. I will do what I can for your life, but you have to give me something I can use. If not for your own head, then for your people at least.”
Ravenshade turned her head to look away a moment and then she stood from her bed all together. She stood staring at the back wall a moment.
“You know I remember these cells. Work of the Paladins. They can see me right now I am sure. They are watching me aren’t they?”
Wolflen nodded.
“Yes Ravenshade. Jakarta, and the Princess herself.”
Ravenshade took a deep breath.
“Before I speak to you of anything, I need a symbol of your trust War Mage.”
Wolflen shifted slightly in his chair.
“Okay, and how exactly might I show that?”
Ravenshade turned and looked at him a moment.
“You said before that your friend wished my life spared and that he had his own reasons. I wish to know those reasons now. Tell me truthfully. I do not need magic after all to know when someone is lying to me.”
Wolflen nodded and then began slowly.
“His name is Ayvock, and like me he hails from Akartha. He was to become a Knight until he decided that protecting me on my journey was more important to him than his trade school was. So that night when you had us dead to rights, he was out walking around our campsite. I admit, Katrina and I were caught off guard. Ayvock I guess was the only one of us paying attention to the surroundings. And he snuck up on you and grabbed you, he said you rubbed up on him. Later in lodgings, he spoke of it, saying that he found you to be quite attractive. He said it caught him off guard completely. So out in the forest when you would have otherwise been killed, he bid me to intervene if I could.”
Ravenshade smiled sheepishly.
“Okay Wolflen Darkmoon of Akartha. I will tell you of the things I know, because I believe you. You seem too innocent to lie; that or too young to be a good liar yet. So hear me now. Mortican is planning something. It is dark, it is big, and it will forever change the face of this world. But then you already guessed that he was my employer, so really, I never told you that did I?”
Wolflen studied her face, realizing she was asking him to never reveal that she turned and ratted Mortican out. Wolflen grinned as he understood her question and he told her that he had indeed guessed that Mortican was behind her attacks.
“Good for you War Mage. Well, what you would also learn in time is the truth behind Mortican’s plans. He is child of the God Kelnazek, first Vampire of Fengysha and father to the rest of their brood. They were long ago bound with others to the Nexulous moon, and now Mortican has found a way to bridge the link between our world and theirs. He will bring those evil hordes back into this world unless he is stopped. Now you tell me, is that worth sparing my life, and my race?”
Wolflen stood up suddenly, and for a moment he was speechless. His face showed the expression of utter shock however. Clearly, he was in denial about what he just heard, but a part of him was starting to accept it as truth.
“He cannot. I mean, the Gods..and the rift was forever sealed so that they may not walk upon the face of Fengysha ever more…”
She looked up at him and shook her head no.
“Mortican himself,” she began, “is a child of a God of Fengysha. He is very powerful, skilled in necromancy and also the teachings of Shadow Knights. Through his dark magics, he has found a way to open certain portals of magic. And once he does, and the portals are opened, it is only a matter of time before the evil armies from the other side come pouring out into this world once more. You are the first ever Izenian War Mage yes, but with all that threatens this world, I would be asking myself if there will be other War Mages, and if so, where they are, because if he opens those portals, this world will be plunged to darkness once more, and blood will stain all lands. No patch of ground will stand free if Mortican gets his way—and he just might.”
Wolflen looked to be distantly calculating the possibilities that now popped into his mind. For a moment, his stare was far, and his face was exp
ressionless. After a moment though his face began to return to normal, and he looked back at Ravenshade quickly.
“You know the details of his plans…of where and when he plans to open these portals you speak of?”
The urgency in his voice was all too clear. Ravenshade grinned slightly, feeling the power of leveraged information work in her favor.
“I know a great deal War Mage. For instance, I know that I am still in this cell. I know that the Elves have yet to offer to spare my life. I know that my life still hangs in the balance, and that my people have thus far received no reward for helping either side, because the Elves have yet to make any such offers, and I have yet to earn that reward through other means.”
By “other means” Ravenshade was referring to Wolflen’s death. She was right about that; she had not accomplished that feature, but that didn’t mean she was entirely beyond giving up that mission either. She knew she had to remain calm now, delicately calm. It was the kind of calm that no one could ever prepare for, or even fully defend—the kind of calm normally found in psychotics and cold-blooded killers. Still, Wolflen was unaffected by her strange behavior now.
“So,” he asked, “if I get you out of here, and were I also able to speak on behalf of your people to my own, you will reveal the details of Mortican’s plan.”
Ravenshade laughed. Wolflen asked what was so funny, unaware that anything he said had been comical at all.