by J. J. Newman
“I’m so sorry, Tsaeris. But if that is you’re stance, then you must be killed.” Dormic said. Men flooded the room, seeming to come out of nowhere. They surrounded Tsaeris and Aedrus in a circle, swords in hand.
Tsaeris stared at Dormic, the turned and kicked Aedrus’ feet out from beneath him. He reached into his coat with both hands, and removed two more small round metal balls. He tossed them into the circle of men. The firebombs went off, and within a second most of the men were falling, wreathed in flames. Three of the men managed to avoid the blasts, rolling quickly away.
“Fools! How many times do I have to tell you,” Dormic yelled. “He is not a swordsman. Beware his tricks!” Dormic faced Tsaeris. “You have harmed yourself and The City this night, Tsaeris. We elites are few, and you have either injured or killed most of my men. You think you’re doing good, but you are the villain here.”
“I’ll hold them back, “Aedrus called. “You get Dormic!” Aedrus rushed in and attacked the three Elites still standing. Fire continued to crawl up the walls and ceiling, and the room was quickly filling with smoke.
Tsaeris took a step towards Dormic, who drew his long sword. Tsaeris reached for his belt and produced a long thin dagger.
Tsaeris could hear Aedrus fighting the Elites, and from the sounds of it, he was holding his own. Aedrus was a talented swordsman, even better when he was mad. Tsaeris always found that strange. Most men’s skill suffered when they were angry. Still, Aedrus was playing a holding action and would not last long.
“Is this what it comes down to?” Dormic asked. “A duel? Both of us fighting in the name of our ideals? So be it. I beat your mentor once. You really think you can win?” Dormic gave Tsaeris a menacing grin, clearly confident in his superiority.
Tsaeris shrugged, then reached quickly into a pouch at his belt, and tossed a handful of powder into Dormic’s eyes. Dormic jumped back, desperately trying to regain his vision. Tsaeris, with one quick leap towards the man, slashed him on the cheek with his dagger, and then dodged under a blind swipe of Dormic’s long sword.
Dormic swung his sword with one hand, and wiped at his eyes with the other. Despite his impaired vision, Dormic’s sword cut quickly through the air, and Tsaeris could not find an opening. It didn’t take long for Dormic to clear his vision, and he snarled at Tsaeris.
Dormic advanced, and stabbed out with his sword, aiming for Tsaeris’ heart. Tsaeris, wielding only a dagger, could not chance a parry, and had to rely on his agility to dodge the blade. Tsaeris narrowly avoided a slash to his chest, and retreated to the wall behind him, the flames licking at his back. He glanced quickly to his left, to see Aedrus being pushed back as well. When he returned his gaze to Dormic, the quick and skilled swordsman had already closed the distance.
Dormic stabbed out at Tsaeris again, and Tsaeris side stepped to his right, causing Dormic’s sword to connect with the wall. Dormic quickly recovered, and slashed out at Tsaeris again, this time connecting with his ribs. Tsaeris cried out in pain, and spun away from the sword, feeling warm blood oozing from the wound. Tsaeris backed up, trying to keep his distance from the dangerous man. Tsaeris clutched at his side. Between the beating Tsaeris had endured at the hands of the large Turindiel, and now the cut to his ribs, he knew he didn’t have much left to give.
“Wait,” Tsaeris said, trying to buy some time. He knew that the fight was over, and Dormic could finish him easily at this point.
“I have said all I will. You’ve had your chance. Now you face the consequences.” Dormic said, and, now within striking distance, raised his sword.
The killing blow missed. Dormic was slowing, and Tsaeris, despite his wounds, managed to lean away from the slash aimed for his head. Tsaeris smiled. “There’s something wrong. You’re sweating, Dormic.”
“What? I’m...” Dormic began, his face going white. He attempted another sloppy slash at Tsaeris, who easily dodged aside.
“Feeling queasy? Nauseous?” Tsaeris asked, his tone mocking.
“No…” Dormic said, despair in his voice. “Why?”
“I don’t much care for duels,” Tsaeris replied.
“What is this?” Dormic said, reaching up and touching the small cut on his cheek. He fell to his knees, and began to vomit, his face ashen. “Poison?”
“Yeah. And quite a bit stronger than the one you faked your death with. Remember? ‘He doesn’t use swords, beware his tricks’? Next time follow your own advice.” Dormic gave him a look of wide eyed disbelief. Tsaeris shrugged almost apologetically, and then kicked Dormic hard in the face. Dormic fell to his back, writhing on the ground.
Tsaeris turned to face the remaining Elites. Aedrus was bleeding from several wounds, but was still standing, and had even managed to kill one of the men. The remaining Elites, upon seeing their master defeated, had thrown down their weapons. Aedrus looked at Tsaeris and Tsaeris shook his head. Aedrus nodded, and with two quick slashes of his sword, cut both men’s throats. Tsaeris stared down at Dormic, who had now gone still. Not willing to take any chances, Tsaeris crouched down, his wound burning painfully, and pushed his dagger into Dormic’s throat.
“Let’s get out of here.” Tsaeris said.
Aedrus and Tsaeris made their way to the window, which had yet to be consumed by flame, and climbed down the wall of the mansion to the ground below. It was a slow and painful climb for both.
When they reached the yard, Tsaeris threw several more fire bombs through the windows.
“What are you doing?” Aedrus asked.
“Making sure this place burns down for good this time,” Tsaeris replied. When the building was finally consumed in flames beyond the hope of recovery, Tsaeris turned and walked towards the gate, Aedrus at his side, and the storm still raging around them.
“I really thought you were going to kill me back there,” Aedrus remarked.
“You have a long time left as Novice, Ginger. I may yet.” Tsaeris replied.
As the two men left the yard, the Purity Union mansion began to collapse in upon itself, its history of death and violence reduced to cinders. Dormic was gone forever, his plan to overthrow the legendary Gravelock buried in the ashes of his mansion.
For better or for worse.
Epilogue
The line between good and evil has been debated since the Light first gave man his life. I can tell you, with utmost certainty, that there is no line, as good and evil themselves are simple illusions. Those in charge decree what’s good, and anything that challenges those decrees are evil. Truly, the definition of good and evil has changed more times than the day has changed to night.
There is no good or evil, only corruption and purity. The City is the bastion of corruption, and it corrupts all who live here. There are none immune to its touch. Not the merchant prince peddling his wares, nor the mother cooing softly at her baby. They may tell themselves otherwise, but they would be wrong.
What makes us different is that we accept that we are corrupted. We embrace it, we use it to fuel our hatred of that very same corruption. We eat it, we sleep it, and we live it. We become lovers with corruption, so that we can know it without fail, and can manipulate it without effort.
Dormic’s end was tragic. He retained a level of altruism, and was wronged terribly in his life. He believed himself the shining star for The Third Eye Initiative. He believed that Gravelock, corrupt and terrible, would lead The City to ruin. I believe he truly wanted to make a difference, and thought he could make The City a better place.
Would that have made him a better leader than Gravelock? No, I don’t think so. Dormic thought himself incorruptible. Gravelock has no such illusions. He is the embodiment of corruption, birthed from the corruption itself. The City and its people created Gravelock, and he is terrible. Yet his intimate relationship with corruption allows him a certain degree of power over it, and he used that power to control it when possible, or destroy it when not.
What he did to Dormic and Tsaeris was cruel, but can anyone deny its necessity wh
en viewed with hindsight? The Purity Union, a scourge of hatred fueled bigots who happily murdered those who were different, was ended. As of this writing, it has not returned.
Would Tsaeris have been bettered served with both eyes, but never becoming an agent with The Third Eye Initiative? No, of course not. He would have ended up dead in a ditch before reaching manhood. And everything he had done for The City during his life as an agent would have never come to pass.
Woe to us all, were that the case.
--Excerpt from “The Sydarin Chronicles” by James Sydarin.
Chapter Forty
Gravelock
It had only been a few days since his confrontation with Dormic and his Elites. Elias had been furious with him for confronting them by himself, but Tsaeris could tell that behind the anger, the man was impressed.
Aedrus was more wounded than he had let on, and had remained at Tyrier’s clinic since the two had returned during that stormy night. He had dozens of cuts and a few of them were fairly deep. He would be fine, though, according to the Doctor. Tsaeris was happy. That boy was growing on him.
Tsaeris kept a lot of the details of that night from Elias. He didn’t tell him about Gravelock sicking Pyron and his guild on him, afraid that Elias would pull a Dormic and try to kill Gravelock himself. He also kept the fact that Raina had been an Elite from Elias. Tsaeris didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. She had been used by Dormic, and didn’t deserve any punishment.
His relationship with Raina had suffered a bit. He had, after all, punched her in the face. After he told her the whole story, she seemed to be more understanding about it. Still, he expected to hear about it now again for many years to come. If he was still alive in a few minutes, that is.
Tsaeris stood at the end of the long dark hallway, in the Third Eye Initiative compound, staring at the open door. After everything he had learned, he knew without a doubt that Gravelock was inside. He knew he had to confront him. How could he just go on, ignoring everything that he had learned? He tried to ignore the fact that anyone who crossed that door without permission never returned.
Tsaeris swallowed. He knew that the open door was an invitation. He was expected. He hesitated for a long moment, and then took a step into the hallway. His shadow flickered in the murky torchlight, growing large, then small as he passed. The air seemed almost damp, and he had trouble breathing. The march down the hallway seemed to take a long time. It seemed like the door was retreating as he approached, a cruel joke to extend the ominous march.
He was being silly. It was just a door. The hallway was not changing length. He was acting like a small scared child. He took a deep breath, and quickened his pace. He would not become one of those superstitious idiots. Tsaeris was a man of reason. He reached the door, and crossed its threshold without pausing.
The room was empty. A single candle sat on a desk in the middle of the room. There was an empty chair on the other side of the desk. The desk was clear of all but the candle. The room was dark, but small, and Tsaeris was sure he was alone. There were no wall hangings, no shelves. Nothing but bare stone and a desk. Nowhere to hide. The door slammed shut behind him
Tsaeris spun around, scanning the room frantically. His nerve was fading, and suddenly he just wanted to get out of that room. He tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. He began pounding, feeling desperation. It was no use. He put his ear to the wood, but there was no sounds coming from the hallway.
He turned away from the door, looking for something he could use to force it open, but he had not been mistaken in his first observation. The room was empty save for the desk and candle. He wondered how long they would leave him in here.
Suddenly something on the desk caught his eye. It was a brass ring. It sat beside the candle. How had he missed that? He was sure that there had been nothing on the desk. He stepped closer, and picked up the ring. He held it in the light of the torch and examined it. It was plain, with no markings. It was a simple band of brass. He put it back down on the table, not liking the implications.
Suddenly he was grabbed from behind, his arm twisted painfully behind his back. His attacker slammed him face down on the desk. Tsaeris tried to struggle, but whoever had grabbed him was much stronger than he. Tsaeris felt like a child. His right cheek lay flat against the cold table. He tried to yell out, but a large gloved hand covered his mouth.
“Ye move, ya die. Ye cry out, ya die. Ye get one warning.” A rumbling yet grating voice whispered in his ear. Tsaeris was still in shock. How could somebody have possibly been in the room? It was so small. There had been nowhere to hide. The attacker let go of him, but he dared not move. He knew that this man had not been joking in his warning.
A cloaked head entered his vision. The face was turned away from him, but he could make out a long greying black beard coming out of the hood. A beard and an accent. This was a dwarf, Tsaeris thought. How was any of this possible?
The face turned towards him, but it was obscured by the shadow of the hood. Then the shadow split apart to reveal a hideous, maddening grin. The teeth were so stark, so white that they were visible even in the dark shadows. It was the only detail Tsaeris could make out.
A sound of metal hitting wood echoed through the room, and the brass ring landed on the table in front of Tsaeris’ face. The cloaked dwarf continued to grin at him. Tsaeris felt his stomach knot. He was terrified. Finally, the face turned away.
“You killed Cyra,” Tsaeris accused, swallowing hard.
“The City Killed Cyra, boyo,” The horrible dwarf replied.
“You had me tortured. Had my eye cut out,” Tsaeris said.
“Ye lookin fer an explanation? Yer a smart lad. Deep down, ye know what I did was necessary. Ye would’ve have joined Dormic otherwise. Ye love it here. Ye do, don’t deny it. Ye love what we do.”
“You’re wrong,” Tsaeris said, and then groaned in pain as Gravelock twisted his arm painfully.
“Ye think I’ll explain meself? Try to get ye to forgive? Ye think I care what ya think? No, lad. Ye’ve thought it over. The results of me actions speak fer themselves.”
Gravelock picked up the brass ring with one hand. It disappeared for a moment, and then returned to the table, hanging on a leather cord. Tsaeris stared at the ring.
“Ah, ye can admit to yerself now, eh? What ye really came here fer,” Gravelock placed a finger on the ring, “Is this. Ye want in deeper. Think ye deserve that ring? Well, take it then.”
Tsaeris was shocked to discover that the dwarf was right. Cyra dying was the result of murderers, who had been put down because of those events. And Tsaeris was happy to be a part of the Initiative, and had decided ages ago that it was worth the price of an eye. No, what he really wanted was one of those rings. He liked the idea of it, the power behind it. Who better than he to wear one?
“I have one rule.” Tsaeris said.
“Ye won’t have to break it, boyo. But this work is dark and bloody. There ain't no place fer scruples. And there ain't no turning back.”
“You won’t leave me to die like you did to Dormic?” Tsaeris asked.
“Not unless it serves me. Take yer badge, boyo. And don’t ye dare take it off. Ever.”
Tsaeris blinked in shock as the face vanished. He listened for the door to open, but the sound never came. After what felt like an eternity, Tsaeris finally found the courage to stand up straight. He looked around the room. It was empty. He shuddered uncontrollably, and then reached down and picked up the ring, holding it in front of his eye considering what it meant.
He was smarter than Dormic, Tsaeris decided. He would be able to plan ahead, make sure his neck was never on the line. He would never be a scapegoat. Tsaeris Sydarin, Elite of the Third Eye Initiative. He liked the sound of that. And all he needed to do was operate without scruples.
Tsaeris smiled, and placed the ring around his neck and tucked it beneath his shirt. Too many scruples were for the weak. He would get on fine with just the one.
Tsaeris opened
the door, to find Elias standing in the hallway. The man looked him in the eye, and grabbed him by the chest. Tsaeris tried to pull away, but Elias held him fast. Elias reached a hand under the neck of Tsaeris’ shirt, and pulled out the ring. Elias nodded, seeming not upset, but not entirely happy either. Tsaeris shrugged.
“My turn,” Elias said, and Tsaeris grinned at him. Elias passed him, with a quick pat on the Tsaeris’ shoulder, and disappeared into the room.
Tsaeris had to fight the urge to whistle happily as he made his way back down the dark foreboding hallway.
Things were about to get very interesting.
Author Bio
Dreaming up fantastical stories since childhood, J.J. Newman was a writer long before he put pen to proverbial paper. He lives in Welland, Ontario with his wife and children, and continues to work on sharing his stories with the world.