The Serpent and the Unicorn: Book I and II

by Susan Skylark

  Chapter 7

  In the dungeons of Arca, Trap had spent many days thinking and racking his mind. He had talked to Bristol on numerous occasions about any number of topics, but he still could not bring himself to a final decision on whether to abandon his former masters or not. One did not simply say ‘I am finished’ and walk away from a lifetime of evil. Or could you? It was not humanly possible to transform into a new person overnight. He might even die if he tried to disentangle himself from the grip of evil. Of course, had he been completely committed to his evil cause, he should have willed himself to die the minute he was captured. Instead he moldered in a cell awaiting an uncertain future. He might die if he tried to free himself of his dark oaths, but he most certainly would die if he chose not to repent (he would be executed for murder or should will himself to die). If he was dead anyway, what was holding him back?

  He was afraid to face life without his shield of evil, his only purpose. His pursuit for power had led him down many dark and twisted paths; without that purpose his life had no direction or reason. A ceasing of existence, as he once thought death would bring, had been a comfort and a retreat, but he was starting to wonder if Tristan had been correct in saying that something terrible awaited him beyond the grave. He and his comrades had never been considered more than tools by their masters, and if one was no longer useful or was lost, it was not of great concern; you were simply replaced. Tristan had shown more concern for him than he had ever received from anyone associated with the Brotherhood. He had thought all people selfish and cold, but it was he who had shut everyone else out and let his own heart grow dark. He yearned for the simple joys of human companionship. He wanted his humanity back. He fell to the floor and for the first time in living memory, he wept.

  Bristol found him some hours later, a broken and fragile man. He had lost everything he had ever depended upon or believed in. He did not know who or what he was. He only knew he could no longer endure the darkness or the solitude. Bristol had compassion for the shriveled shell of a man before him and opened the cell. He gently lifted the man and supported him as they walked out of the dungeons and into the sunlit gardens. The sun shone merrily on a myriad of flowers, somewhere a bird sang, a cool breeze played among the leaves. They sat in silence on a stone bench in the shade of a great oak. Trap sat in the sun and simply absorbed its warmth. He took in the sights, sounds, and smells with a joy he had not known since childhood. He looked at the world about him with a childish sense of delight and wonder. What had he been seeking before that compared to all this? He felt that if he could sit in the garden for the rest of his days, it would not be a wasted life. Somewhere up above, music drifted from an open window. It was a light, airy tune that minded one of a cool autumn evening with geese on the wing and the trees afire with the colors of sunset. He had not allowed himself to experience such peace or joy since he was a small boy. He had abandoned himself fully to the rigors and darkness of his work. He had lost himself in evil and was only now realizing that of all men he knew himself least. “I do not know who I am,” he said in a quiet, pained voice.

  “Time will reveal that,” said Bristol.

  “I have wrought such evil and sold my very soul into darkness. What hope is there for me?” asked Trap.

  “There is always hope,” said Bristol quietly, “even for the most hardened soul. No choice need be final this side of death.”

  “I have nothing left to cling to,” said Trap, “everything I once knew is gone. What is the meaning in anything? Where do I go? What do I do?”

  “There is meaning and purpose in everything,” Bristol said gently, “as long as you are breathing, you will find a purpose.”

  “How?” asked the man desperately.

  “Seek the Master,” was all Bristol said.

  Trap was allowed the use of a well-guarded room high up in one of the towers of the castle. Sunshine and fresh air streamed through the open window, occasionally sounds of music, birdsong, or laughter were carried on an errant breeze; it was a pleasant and quiet retreat for one who had dwelt so long in darkness. Seek the Master? To him, the Master had ever been a figure from the distant past who had succumbed to the weaknesses of mercy and compassion, but the Brethren seemed to think him alive and powerful. And stranger still, they said he was willing to reach out to anyone. Even him! How could you turn to someone you had denied your entire life, especially after having slain several of his servants (among numerous other people)? It was a strange proposal but he had ample time to think upon it. While Trap debated within himself, his captors also debated what should be done with the prisoner. Technically, he should stand trial for his crimes and then be executed. But in his shattered mind lurked vital information about the Brotherhood of the Serpent, their deadliest opponent. It was decided that he should be taken to Astoria (since it was the Brethren who accused him of murder) once he was fit to travel, and his fate would be left to the Lady. Bristol continued to visit with the man as often as he could. Arora occasionally accompanied Bristol and played for the broken man; her music seemed to ease his tormented soul. Neither knew what the future held for him.

  Pallin, now an official student at the University, attended enough lectures so as not to arouse suspicion, but not any more than absolutely necessary. He was of an age with many of the boys who attended and started to make friends among them. They were eager to learn and worked hard at everything they did, but their thinking was so backwards and illogical that it nearly drove Pallin mad. Every night at the debate, he tried to counter some of their baffling logic, but most of the time he was excluded from the stump by those who disliked his interference. He tried to speak with various professors and discovered they had little time for students. They were much too important to be bothered with such menial tasks. The few he was able to exchange a few words with spoke only of their areas of interest, and had no interest in discussing where they had acquired their knowledge or why anyone would care to hear about it. Most had attained their position by donating generously to the school. They carried themselves with a pride and importance far superior to their supposed mental abilities. The students looked up to them with a respect verging on awe, as if the sons of the gods had deigned to walk briefly upon the same soil trodden by mortal men. Pallin doubted even the most reverent of the Brethren doted that much upon the Lady! That sort of respect was due only to the Master alone, and should not be wasted on mere mortals. On a brighter note, he decided washing dishes was not so bad; he could have been assigned to haul rubbish to the refuse pile. He kept his eyes open for any sinister or important looking visitors, but he saw no one but students and professors running about the campus.

  It had now been a month since Tristan set forth on his journey with Geff. The youth had become a respectable horseman, and had learned much in his various encounters with the common people. People were very happy to talk to someone so obviously interested in what they had to say. It was also a nice change from being yammered at ceaselessly by other journeying students who had not learned the restraint forced upon Geff. On several occasions, he was invited to spend a couple days with a farmer or craftsman who was more than happy to show him the finer points of his trade. Tristan even began showing him how to use a sword and teaching him the basics of archery. Geff was having the time of his life and actually learning something to boot. True, he may never raise potatoes or make a barrel, but it was interesting to know how things were made and where they came from. Never did he use his knowledge of the various ways to classify fungus. They had several interesting encounters along the way, especially with Geff’s fellow students.

  One night they sat in the common room of an inn, just watching the other guests. Lightning flashed outside as a bedraggled young man crept in out of the storm. He was thin and weary, but he held himself confidently. He approached the innkeeper and inquired about the possibility of exchanging some sage advice for supper and a bed
. The man replied that he could wash the dishes and sweep the floor in exchange for a few scraps and a sleeping place in the stable. The boy agreed (obviously desperate for food and shelter), but asked that he be allowed to share some important advice with the gathered patrons. The innkeeper rolled his eyes and walked away, apparently this was a common occurrence. The boy stood at the front of the room and prattled away about the finer points of draconian anatomy (Tristan, who had actually met a few dragons, could only wonder where the boy acquired his information). After a quarter of an hour, he finally wound down and asked for questions. Most of the guests ignored him or stared at him blankly. Having apparently mystified his audience with his knowledge (or lack there of) he went in search of the innkeeper to see about his dinner. Most of the patrons shook off their confused looks and resumed whatever they had been doing before the interruption. One man sat in the corner, puffing a pipe and smiling broadly, he seemed pleased with the way things were going. Tristan wondered if he was one of those sent out by the Brotherhood to monitor the success of their plot.

  The door banged open again, and another wet traveler shook the rain from his cloak. He found a place near the fire and went about the tedious business of trying to dry his soaked paraphernalia. Geff turned his attention to Tristan and said, “did I sound that confusing and pompous?”

  Tristan smiled and said, “you were very confusing, but you had not yet practiced enough to achieve that level of arrogance.”

  “Thanks, I think,” said Geff.

  “You are welcome,” said Tristan laughing, “you have improved greatly since then. In fact I may be leaving you to your own devices very soon if nothing ‘interesting’ happens in the next couple of weeks.” The boy looked stunned at the thought of being left alone in the wide world. Tristan could almost read his thoughts, “do not worry,” he said, “you are much more ready to face the world than I was when my own turn came. You will do very well, much better than most of your colleagues I think.” The newcomer by the fire glanced casually around the room and started when he saw Tristan. He ceased trying to dry his clothes and walked over to their table.

  “What brings you to this soggy part of the world?” asked the stranger of Tristan.

  Tristan smiled and said, “have a seat Turin! It is good to see you. I am following up a lead on something, but I am beginning to think it a futile effort. What are you up to?”

  “Oh the usual,” said Turin, taking a seat at their table, “chasing down nefarious evil-doers and protecting the weak from the strong. Who is your friend?”

  “He is a student from the University,” said Tristan who grinned at his friend’s startled reaction, “he has learned the value of opening his ears and shutting his mouth.”

  “I see,” said Turin, “so why is he chasing about with you?”

  “I am chasing about with him, actually,” said Tristan, laughing at his friend’s confusion. “What do you know of this University?” continued he.

  “Not much,” said Turin thoughtfully, “only that it sends out hordes of ill-educated boys to starve in the wilderness while pretending to share deep and forgotten wisdom.”

  Tristan leaned closer to his friend, “I think this University has something to do with the Brotherhood. It is a ridiculous institution with good intentions, but I think they are unknowingly serving the agenda of the Brotherhood.”

  “I think I could believe that,” said Turin, “you can hardly get anyone to listen to you anymore. They are so tired of being preached at that no one will listen to anything, even from a reputable source.”

  “Do you know the man in the corner?” asked Tristan. Turin glanced briefly at the man still smoking his pipe.

  “No,” said Turin, “but evil rolls off him like spray from the sea. I have encountered an occasional man like him in my journeys. Whatever they are up to, it is not good.”

  “I wonder,” said Tristan, “he may be an agent of the Brotherhood. I have encountered similar feeling men and each time that is what they have turned out to be. Should we do anything about him?”

  “I have just finished my latest mission and currently have no pressing duties,” said Turin, “perhaps I can keep an eye on him. I would hate to have him do something terrible that we could prevent, but we also do not want to engage him unless we know that there is something more sinister about him than a fondness for tobacco.”

  Tristan nodded his agreement. “Have you been through Arca lately?” asked he.

  “Not in a couple months, but I have heard no bad news,” said Turin.

  “Perhaps that is where we shall head next,” said Tristan. The boy smiled, he longed to see a city besides Dara. “How are things otherwise?” asked Tristan.

  “Besides not being able to talk to people, not bad,” said Turin, “at least I am not aware of any more mysterious disappearances on our part.”

  Tristan said, “I am hoping we have that loose end tied up.” Turin nodded but did not question further in the boy’s presence.

  At that moment, the other student emerged from the kitchen with a red face and wrinkled hands; apparently he had been washing dishes. He resumed his place by the fire, “most distinguished guests,” he began, “I hope you enjoyed my previous talk. Now I will give a brief dissertation on the more peculiar draconian subspecies.”

  The two men and the boy exchanged pained looks. “I am off to bed,” laughed Turin, “I am not sure I can stomach any more of these lectures.” With a smile and a nod he bid them goodnight.

  “Who was that?” asked Geff.

  “An old friend,” said Tristan, “I have not seen him in years. Our duties keep us on the road and often half a world a part.”

  “What duties?” asked Geff.

  “We share a common goal of helping others and making the world a better place,” said Tristan, “he maintains justice and protects the innocent from those who might otherwise take advantage of them. I uncover evil in its myriad forms and try to stop it.” The boy scratched his head in confusion but asked no more.

  By now, the other student had finished his speech and as he glanced expectantly around the room his eyes fell on Geff, recognition dawned in his eyes. The boy gave an exaggerated bow. Leaving his indifferent audience in peace for a time. He came over and stood by Tristan’s table and said to Geff, “well, well what have we here? I did not think to find you upon the road.”

  “Hello Raye,” said Geff glumly.

  “Who is your friend?” asked the boy, “have you found a wealthy benefactor?”

  Tristan shook his head and said, “I am just a friend accompanying him on his journey until our paths bifurcate. And who might you be?”

  “I am called Raye,” said the boy expansively, as if all the world should fall prostrate in awe at such a pronouncement. When no one fell down in worship, he continued, “I am a student at the University and am over halfway through my journey. Someday I shall be a professor and share my extensive knowledge of all things draconian with the masses.”

  “Fascinating,” said Tristan, “and where have you acquired this extensive knowledge?”

  “I have read books and talked to people and theorized on the intricacies of dragons,” said the boy proudly.

  “That is what I thought,” said Tristan wryly, “you have imparted much information tonight that many have never even dreamed of hearing.” This was Tristan’s diplomatic way of saying the boy did not have a clue about that which he imparted to others. The boy seemed to take the comment as his due and sat down importantly.

  “Now what have you done since we parted?” asked Raye.

  “I have learned much upon the road, not the least of which was how much I have yet to learn,” said Geff defensively.

  “I see,” said Raye with an apparent lack of interest, “well I must be about my duties. Not all of us have the luxury of a free meal.” He got up and headed back towards the kitchen. As
he did so the man in the corner called him over and briefly said something. The boy smiled broadly and thanked the man. It seemed the man was congratulating him on his knowledge or speaking abilities. The boy returned to the kitchens and the man got up and approached Tristan’s table.

  “Greetings my friends,” said the oily man as he seated himself. “I have very much enjoyed the presentation by the other young man,” he continued. He glanced at Geff and said, “and are you not also one of these remarkable young men courageously traveling the wilds in their quest to share their knowledge?”

  Geff looked at the tabletop and said, “yes sir.”

  “Then why do you not share your invaluable wisdom with all gathered herein?” asked the wheedling man.

  “Raye is a much more accomplished speaker,” said Geff, “and I do not wish to steal the day from him. Besides, I would be terribly disappointing by comparison.”

  The man looked sourly at Tristan, “why do you hinder the boy in sharing his wisdom?”

  “I have nothing to do with it,” said Tristan, “the boy may do as it pleases him. I merely accompany him while our paths coincide.”

  “What are you afraid of?” snapped the man at Geff.

  “Sir,” said the boy, “I will share my knowledge when it is worth sharing, but at the moment the least wise among the people in this room knows more than I.”

  “This is not the attitude taught at the University,” scoffed the man.

  “No,” said Tristan with a slight smile, “it is the voice of experience. He has learned that there is a difference between knowledge and wisdom, and he has wisely chosen not to bore those here gathered with useless information.”

  “He has a very promising future if only he will embrace it,” said the man.

  “He does have a promising future,” said Tristan, “and he will get there eventually, but for now he has chosen humility over unwarranted pride. I would say that is the beginning of wisdom.”

  “No one asked you,” snarled the man, “and I would stay out of this if I were you. You are as bad as one of those cursed Brethren, always spouting self-righteous piety every chance they get.”

  “I do not know about the Brethren, but I thought it was simply common sense,” said Tristan.

  “Mark me,” said the man, “you will regret interfering in matters you know nothing about.” He stood abruptly and stormed out into the night. Geff felt a chill run down his spine; he had never encountered such open hostility before, especially over something so trivial.

  “What was all that about?” he asked.

  “I am not sure,” said Tristan, “but he is the only one here who seems to appreciate the University’s efforts to educate the masses.” Geff laughed nervously.

  The last of the guests had gone home or retreated to their rooms. Tristan and Geff sat alone in the common room. Raye swept the floor, but kept glancing towards them in irritation; he did not like having to beg for his supper, especially when a freeloader like Geff could get his for nothing. Finally, Tristan stood and headed for their room. Geff followed obediently. “I am going to check in on Turin,” said Tristan, “you should probably go to bed.” Geff nodded sleepily and slipped into their room. Tristan tapped on Turin’s door and it opened immediately.

  “Where is your creepy friend?” asked Turin once the door was shut, “I saw something of his conversation with you. He is a nasty piece of work.”

  “I do not know,” said Tristan, “he stormed out into the downpour; I have not seen him since our brief conversation. He threatened that I would regret ‘interfering,’ but I do not know if his threats are real or bluff. I no longer have any doubts as to his loyalties however.” Turin nodded.

  A scream of terror rent the night. The men reflexively drew their swords and dashed into the empty hall. A white-faced Raye pointed silently towards Geff’s room. Tristan quietly opened the door and jumped back. Nothing happened. Cautiously they crept into the room, swords drawn. Lightning flashed outside the open window and rain streamed in. A movement in the corner caught Tristan’s eye and he set himself for attack. “Ahhh!” yelled Geff, “do not hurt me!” Tristan pulled up short, his sword inches from the boy’s face.

  “What happened?” gasped Tristan.

  “A..a…thing,” stuttered the frightened boy, “came in through the window. I was paralyzed with fear. It searched the room, glared at me, and fled out the window.” By now, Turin had a candle lit.

  “What was it?” asked Tristan calmly.

  “I think it was a man,” said Geff, “but I have never felt such fear in the presence of anyone before.”

  “I think it was our friend from earlier tonight,” said Tristan, “he came to make sure I would not interfere any longer and when he did not find me he fled.” Tristan turned to Turin, “I no longer doubt he is what we think he is.”

  Turin nodded, “I can hunt him down, you should keep the boy safe.”

  Tristan said, “if the man had wanted the boy dead he could easily have killed him a few moments ago. Perhaps I should just let him go about his own business and he will be left alone.”

  Geff chimed in, “what if we continue to travel together and I act as bait?”

  “Are you serious?” asked Tristan.

  “How else are we going to catch him?” asked the boy.

  “He has a point,” said Turin.

  Tristan turned to Geff and said, “you do realize that your life will be in danger if we go through with this?” The boy nodded eagerly; he thought this was going to be fun! All three spent the night in Turin’s room; the men took turns standing watch.