by Dan O'Brien
The warrior gripped it loosely and then let go.
“Apology accepted.”
Lord Verifal sighed with relief and sank into his throne. “With that aside, I feel that introductions are necessary, mysterious warrior. You have us at a bit of a loss. You know who we are. But we know nothing of you, not even your name.”
“Xeno Lobo. I am hunter from a faraway land,” replied Xeno, his eyes roaming the gathered masses. Their attention had already returned to their idle, individual conversations that had enraptured them before his entrance.
“What is this trinket you seek?” queried Uthen.
“That is my affair and will stay as such,” snapped Xeno. Uthen nodded, not wanting to provoke the man who had so easily disarmed him.
The king saw the tension and broke into the conversation. “When do you plan on leaving for the Tower at Sel’verene?”
“Tonight, by the light of the moon,” returned Xeno.
“But the Widow’s were-beast hunts in the night,” spoke Uthen.
“Karian’s playthings are no concern of mine,” replied Xeno dismissively.
“Karian?” queried the king.
“Who is Karian, Master Hunter?” asked Uthen.
“The Widow, the master of the Tower of Darkness at Sel’verene,” replied Xeno, his attention brought back to the conversation after realizing his words.
“You know the Widow by name?” asked Uthen.
“I am afraid so,” replied Xeno uncomfortably.
“This is why you go to Sel’verene?”
“In a way, but she had taken something from me the last time we met. I am going to retrieve it at any cost,” replied Xeno as he moved away from the throne and paced the small area in front of the royal seat.
“Last time,” whispered Uthen to himself.
“We are in your debt for killing the Nighen. If the Widow has truly taken something from you, then we would be honored to help you defeat her,” replied Verifal graciously.
The townspeople whispered among themselves.
Xeno looked at the boastful king and pondered for a moment. “How could you possibly aid me in my quest?” queried Xeno, and then continued. “No army can enter the windy paths that lead to the Tower, and there is no weapon that I can use better than my own. No magical artifact or incantation will suffice to defeat Karian, the Widow.”
“Then what can we lend you? We wish to help you,” pressed the king.
The presence of the dark lord Chaos flooded the land in shadow. The appearance of the Widow was another test of humanity, to see if they could truly outlast the dark tides of malevolence.
Xeno parried the question and looked around at the apprehensive gazes of the court of Me’lein. “What of Chaos? Surely his coming far outweighs my journey?”
“The Widow is a part of the evil that is Chaos, and all must be cleansed in order to restore peace across the land. Allies must be chosen and lines draw in the sands of war,” replied Uthen with his grand arms across his chest.
“Indeed,” returned Xeno with equal dissatisfaction at the options. “So be it then. Let me reside in Me’lein for the duration of the night, and then in the morning provide me with a fresh mount and supplies. This is how you may aid me.”
“Very well,” replied Verifal with a grand sweep of his hand as he rose from his throne. “Your request is granted. Gaition, prepare the guest chambers for Master Warrior Xeno.”
Gaition bowed and exited the chamber in haste, a spiteful glare upon his features as he pushed past the congregation of citizens. Uthen nodded to Xeno as the chatter and conversation of the antechamber was restored. The vagrant warrior melted back into the surroundings, awaiting his journey to the north.
*
The guest quarters were fit for royalty.
The bed was a construction of pure mastery.
The four corners were pillars of ivory that strangled their way into one another. At the top was a grand canopy of linens. The sheets were sewn of the finest silks and were plentiful in the wake of the extreme cold that had gripped the lands. Xeno lay surrounded in the sheets, his body writhing in a nightmare. His arms flailed and his head shook from side to side.
Muttering, it was the incoherent rambling of sleep.
The remainder of room was darkness, except the dwindling flame at the side of the bed encased within the iron-cased lamp. The cold winds manipulated the fire like a dancer as the warrior slept.
The door to the chambers opened slightly.
Shadows of the hall merged with that of the room. The figure that accompanied the shadow slithered, as if without form.
Xeno remained undisturbed.
His mind was still trapped in whatever nightmarish world gripped it. As the shadow neared, the gaunt, featureless face of an imp moved close to the bed. Its wicked fingers gripped a ragged, curved blade.
Xeno mumbled in his sleep as the creature crept close. Its pale, sickly features curved into a grin of malevolence as it hovered above Xeno. Drawing the thin edge above its head, the imp prepared to plunge the blade into the slumbering warrior’s chest.
The moon shone behind the listless clouds that drifted by lazily. As the imp brought the blade above its head, the metal glinted in the moonlight and flashed across Xeno’s face, waking him in an instant. The imp screeched and slammed the blade down. It was too late. Xeno rolled and drew his blade from the table at the bedside.
“What in the name of Exodus?” roared Xeno as he brandished the blade. The imp thrashed about the bed linens, spitting and growling like the feral creature of the night that it was. The creature stopped upon hearing Xeno’s voice and cocked its head to the side. Its eyes glazed as it watched the warrior standing there.
“Kill––the––warrior Xeno,” gargled the beast as it leapt from the bed. Approaching Xeno, it slashed at the air with its savage edge. It moved like a beast upon four legs as it rushed toward the warrior.
Xeno swung his blade from the ground into the air with a deep arc, tearing the creature in two as it leapt. It squealed as it crashed back into the bed and convulsed momentarily, until it moved no more.
The blood pooled on the sheets.
Xeno sighed and moved toward the bed.
The half-light of the moon provided the only visibility; the torch had long since burned down to embers. Moments passed and Xeno felt the pressure of the solitude and silence of the massive castle and the halls that lined it.
The door burst open, revealing light from deeper within the recesses of the edifice. Hooded, shadowed figures emerged, their motions hurried and confused.
Xeno strapped his sheath along his back once again and pulled the straps tight, the leather groaning as it gripped against his back and along his chest. He pulled his cloak and wool shirt from the side table as Verifal approached, flanked by Gaition and three faceless guardians of Me’lein.
“Master Xeno, what happened?” queried the sleepy king as he surveyed the room.
The imp lay in blood.
Xeno sat in light of the moon.
He smirked and placed the blades into their hidden sheaths around his waist. He sighed at king. “That is a question I hoped you would answer,” replied Xeno as he pushed past Verifal and into the hallway just outside his room.
The corridor stretched far into the darkness. People had gathered because of the commotion. They ambled about like cattle in a pasture, waiting for a command, a reason.
“What are you saying?” began the king.
“I’m not saying anything,” interrupted Xeno as he leaned back into the room and glared at Gaition as he passed. The attendant lowered his head as he met the hateful gaze of the traveling warrior.
Xeno made his way across the room to the opposite end, his head peering out the stone window, looking to the darkened forest below. Shaking his head, he watched as the guards crossed paths and circled around the corner once again. “How many guards are posted along the outer wall?”
“Seven. Two at the gates and five roamin
g along the wall,” replied Uthen.
“And inside the castle?”
“At least ten or twelve more depending on the hour of the night,” replied Uthen once again as he leaned against the wall.
“What are you driving at, Master Warrior?” queried Verifal suspiciously. His regal robes were pulled tight around his frame, combating the biting cold of the night.
“Unless you are in the practice of keeping forest imps within the castle walls,” began Xeno. Turning with an accusing finger, he continued. “If that is not the case, then an imp with about as much intelligence as a stone wall managed to sneak past almost twenty guards and into my room without even the slightest bit of notice.”
“Are you saying that someone let it in?” queried Uthen trying to follow Xeno’s train of logic.
Xeno shrugged and looked from the king to Uthen, to the cowering Gaition. “It knew my name. It spoke it before I put an end to its life,” finished Xeno with a sigh.
“It spoke your name? You must be mistaken,” burst out Gaition. It was the first time he had spoken since coming upon the scene.
“You doubt my word,” returned Xeno, his anger seething. It seemed to rise from his person.
“No, it is not that. It is merely….” stammered Gaition, backing away from the angst and venom in Xeno’s words. Uthen glowered at Gaition, and then looked to the astonishment on Verifal’s face.
Verifal could feel the mounting tension and stepped forward quickly. “This cannot be decided here tonight. We will convene in the morning and discuss this further. Let us leave it until then.”
“Will that be alright, Master Xeno?” queried Uthen, turning toward the hunter.
“Fine, in the morning I leave for the north. I leave these matters to your court.” Xeno turned away from the congregation and looked out the stone window, out into the darkness that held both secrets and truths.
Verifal motioned for the guards to leave and he followed them, flanked by Uthen and Gaition’s shrouded figure. Leaving Xeno to the solitude and soiled sheets, he would see no more sleep that night.
4
T
he halls of the Tower of Darkness were bathed in shadow. The narrow corridors were draped with murals and texts older than time. A minuscule window that lined these pathways was stained in black glass.
The tower rose high into the skies, higher than the greatest reaches of the frozen clouds that circled it. As the citadel neared the stars above, it became progressively smaller and smaller until only one room remained: the Widow’s chamber.
The room was situated with only a throne of obsidian and a cold steel table on which an iridescent orb resided. Beside the throne lay the slumbering were-beast and the pearl whelp that resided atop her throne of death.
She moved about the room like a dancer amidst a song, her head tilted back and golden hair spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her arms reached out into nothingness and a hum echoed in the dim chambers as she made her way.
The spinning stopped as she neared the orb and in one movement, she brought her head over it. Her hair spilled over the sides of it. She muttered to herself incoherently. As she pulled back, the orb had gone from a swirling mass of indistinguishable colors to pitch black, the change extraordinary.
“Mighty orb of darkness, what do you see?” she called into the darkness. The orb imploded upon itself, the darkness reverberating within the shadow until it stilled.
A voice emanated from it, a dark voice that boomed from wall to wall. “A force approaches. A man bound to the Light, a servant of the enemy of the Towers of Darkness.”
“Enemy of the Towers of Darkness, how enjoyable,” she cooed.
Her voice was elegant.
The voice came again, as monotone as it had previously been. “The servant brings a second, and soon a third. These forces align against your reign, against the reign of the Towers of Darkness.”
“Karian, the Widow, fears no mortal, especially enemies of the darkness,” she laughed at the orb manically. She danced about the room again, the were-beast lifting its head as its master gallivanted like a child to a tune that had ensnared her soul.
She danced and danced until she came to a stop abruptly, her hair tossed across the face. Her brow was furrowed, lost in thought, her finger raised in question. “Who is this servant of the Light? Has he, she, a name?”
“The name that slices through the darkness is Xeno Lobo. He has defeated the Nighen, your carrier of death to the south, in Me’lein,” returned the voice.
“Xeno Lobo,” she whispered to herself, her eyes closed. Her left hand began to glow, the darkness swirling about her and then in a blink of an eye, a sword materialized.
The blade was etched in shadow and death, the hilt carved from human bone. The guard was a gnarled, twisted form of a shadow woman. She spun the sword with the practiced hand of a swordswoman and slammed it into the stone of her fortress. Splintering the rock, she turned back to the orb, chest heaving.
“Xeno Lobo.”
“Yes, they speak of Xeno Lobo. The caretaker of the crest of Devon,” replied the voice without inflection, without care.
She looked across her room and saw the twinkling jewel crest that rested upon her throne, the golden chain sparkling in the moonlight. The sight of it drove her mad, swinging and striking the walls with her blade. The whelp rose from its perch, searching back into the darkness.
It screamed the whole way.
“But I took that damnable thing from him once. Why does he wish for more pain, more regret?” she queried madly.
“I do not know, Mistress Karian, but I do know that he comes here for that crest. You are the bearer of his pain and regret.”
She calmed, the sword vanishing from her grasp. The darkness embraced her once again. Her body fell to the cold floor, hair spilled about her face. She remained there, cackling madly as the shadows encircled her.
5
X
eno sat upon his brown steed, the white mane whipping in the cold breeze that had sprung up a few miles outside of the castle. Uthen followed closely behind him, his posture relaxed. His dark eyes were fixed on the distance.
“How much farther until we reach Sel’verene?” called Xeno back to Uthen, who looked out upon the road distantly.
Uthen shifted his glance to Xeno, the glaze disappearing for a moment. Realizing that he was being addressed, he pushed his steed forward alongside Xeno.
“At least another night’s ride. It lays along the farthest border of Me’lein, abreast the mountains where the Tower of Darkness is hidden,” replied Uthen. Xeno nodded and continued to look ahead without response. “Why do you seek out the Widow?”
“She has taken something from me, something very dear to me,” replied Xeno without looking back.
“A trinket does not warrant such a journey, especially one that brings you against the will of one of the Towers of Darkness, and the wrath of the Widow.”
“What she has taken was valuable to me, valuable in a way that nothing else will suffice except to end what began a long time ago in a place far from this land.” Xeno could feel a coldness grip his heart, a somber feeling that claimed his emotions.
“I am sorry for your loss, but…”
“But nothing, Uthen, I do not wish to speak of such things. I appreciate your companionship, but I will not be candid about my past, or the events surrounding Karian,” spoke Xeno irritably.
Uthen nodded, not wanting to push him any farther. “Do we hope to purchase supplies in Sel’verene?”
“That would be the plan, but I imagine that Sel’verene would be a very dark place being so close to the Tower. I doubt we will find much guidance there.”
“Yes, I imagine so,” replied Uthen with a sigh and then gazed back into the distance again. The clouds there were aggravated and grey.
“A storm approaches.”
“I see that,” replied Xeno.
“Do we ride through?”
“You said it is
a night’s ride, correct?”
“At the very most an entire night,” spoke Uthen, looking off into the distance.
“Then we ride through until we reach Sel’verene.”
“Then what?”
“Then we rest another night and leave at dawn for the Tower. Pray that the gods are with us,” replied Xeno.
Uthen nodded again, a habit that was beginning to form as he did not know what to say to a man who could best him in combat. Something he had never been faced with until now.
*
Dawn was breaking as Xeno and Uthen rode into Sel’verene. A sheet of freshly-fallen snow covered the majority of the street. The sparse buildings seemed more the part of tombs than businesses. They spied the sign that had INN sprawled across it in faded black paint and tied their horse out front, taking a moment to look up and down the deserted street.
Xeno grasped the rusted iron handle and turned it. Emitting a thin, squealing creak as the door swung inward, it revealed the darkened interior. With the exception of the dwindling embers in the fireplace and the dancing light of the lantern at the counter, there was little luminance of which to speak. They approached the counter, their snow-drenched boots leaving puddles of water and slush as they made their way.
Xeno peered over the empty counter, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. “Hello?” he called, his voice echoing in the chamber.
The rustle of footsteps and then the muttering of several small voices came from the staircase to their right. Xeno moved to inspect when a young woman emerged from around the corner, her white dress covered in a dark brown shawl. “Can I help you?” she whispered, her voice more youthful than her appearance.
Xeno stared at the young girl for a moment.
Producing a small satchel of coins, he laid them upon the counter. “My companion and I weathered the snowstorm and need a room for the day and part of the night. Can that be arranged?”