"We should never have come to this place."
Mathris of Valimere did not have the look of a courageous man. His wrinkled face bore the pain of countless defeats, both real and imagined. He provided a stark contrast to the two men standing alongside him in the darkened alleyway. Their eyes still shone with the ambitions Mathris abandoned long ago.
"We didn’t ask you to accompany us, uncle," Ergill, the youngest, said. "You needn't have involved yourself in this business."
"Don't speak of this treason of ours so lightly, boy."
"Treason, brother?" the third man, Hargrim, said. "How can serving the king’s will be considered treason?"
"The king has been taken by fits of madness in the past. Can you be so sure that we’re not dancing to the whims of a madman?"
"We’re all bound to the service of our lord and king," Ergill said. "It’s not our place to—"
"Silence!" Hargrim said. "Something approaches."
The three men looked up as a large, black buzzard perched upon a crumbling ledge a few feet above them. It folded its wings and glared down at them. The carrion eater’s focused manner distinguished it from a natural creature. It regarded each of them and then, to their horror, began to speak with a rasping, ragged voice.
"Hargrim, son of Illvin, advisor to the king of Kurn," it said. "You are known to my master."
It turned next to Ergill.
"Ergill, son of Hargrim, chief guardsman to the king of Kurn, you too are known to my master."
The bird leveled its unblinking gaze at Mathris.
"And you, Mathris, son of Illvin, brother of Hargrim, a man of little consequence in the king’s court. You are known to my master, though your presence here is unexpected."
Mathris stepped back, his hands trembling.
"You come with false intentions, Mathris, son of Illvin."
Hargrim and Ergill turned to face him. Tears welled in the corners of the old man’s eyes.
"The vile thing speaks truth; I didn’t come here to aid your dirty plot. I came in the hope of finding that the rumors I heard were false, but now my heart breaks to see what terrible lengths you've taken this scheme of yours. How could you even think of entering into pact with the fiend this grim creature serves? Is the right to the throne of a worthless kingdom so precious to you that you would risk the soul of every man in this city?"
"My master grows impatient, Hargrim, son of Illvin," the bird said.
"You understand nothing, brother," Hargrim said.
"I can’t stand by while you bring doom to—"
A sickening crack drowned out the last of Mathris's words as Ergill picked up a nearby chunk of rock and smashed his uncle’s skull with one savage blow.
Hargrim did not move at first, his face glazed with shock. He watched his son toss the bloody rock aside casually.
"What have you done, Ergill?"
"Calm yourself, Hargrim, son of Illvin," the buzzard said. "Your son was right to do as he did. You still have enemies within the king’s court, and they would quickly learn of your involvement in this matter from your brother's loose tongue."
Hargrim nodded and said nothing, but his gaze lingered on the blood seeping from his brother’s head.
"Now then, Hargrim, son of Illvin," the buzzard said, "my master wishes to discuss the terms of your offer."
Prince Sarthis of Valimere concealed his face as he skulked through the muddy streets of his decrepit city. A moonless sky loomed over the bleak cityscape, smothering it in darkness. The stone foundations of the decayed buildings around Sarthis had been ancient long before his ancestors made Valimere their home, a place a famous poet had once likened to a wilted rose. Were Sarthis sensitive to the pain and despair of others, he would have shuddered whenever he passed an unfortunate wretch cowering in the shadows in fear of his passage. As it was, he took no notice of such suffering.
He stopped beneath the greasy light of a rusty lantern that illuminated a grotesque stone building so ancient that its walls appeared ready to cave in at the slightest touch. Stepping over still puddles of urine and excrement collected in the shallow trench alongside the street, Sarthis knocked on the sturdy door.
After a few moments, the door swung open and the Kurnite prince ducked inside. A huge, burly man holding a gnarled hunk of wood in his massive hands met him just inside the doorway. The man’s crooked and misplaced facial features looked as if their bones had been broken many times over. Sarthis could not ignore the sight of dried blood on the giant’s crude club.
"Help you, friend?" the giant asked.
"Step aside, dog. I’ve business with your master."
The huge man stared for a moment.
"Don’t remember you."
"You don’t remember because you are a simpleminded ogre. Now stand aside."
The giant shook his head.
"Don’t like you."
His crooked smile turned into a sneer as he took a step forward. Sarthis opened his mouth to spew more venom but his bravado dissolved when giant raised his blood-encrusted club.
"Thursk!"
The giant froze at the sound of his name. Sarthis peered around the behemoth to spot a gaunt man standing behind him.
"This is no way to treat an honored guest. Surely you recall the good Prince Sarthis from his last visit with us?"
The giant’s misshapen face twisted awkwardly for a moment before he nodded and looked down at Sarthis. He seemed disappointed.
"Remember now," Thursk said.
"Out of my way, oaf," Sarthis said as he slipped past the giant. "Curse you, Nalath! Was my gold not good enough to keep my name from your lips?"
The thin man merely chuckled and waved his hand dismissively.
"More than enough, your highness, but do forgive me if I cannot resist the urge to greet a royal guest to my humble little house of delight by name."
"I trust you’re not so cavalier with secrets around all those in your employ," Sarthis said.
"You needn’t worry yourself about this one’s loose lips, highness. Thursk can scarcely recall his own name on the best of days. The body of a titan with the mind of an infant, I’m afraid."
The giant glared down at his employer, but neither Nalath nor Sarthis bothered to look his way as they shared a jovial moment at his expense.
"Come, my prince. I’m sure you didn’t push your way through the filthy rabble of Valimere to exchange pleasantries with a boor such as myself. Please," Nalath placed a hand on Sarthis's shoulder and led him inside.
The main chamber of The Serpent’s Nest could hold well over a hundred men comfortably, but less than two dozen patrons were there tonight. Some gathered at tables cluttered with mugs of ale and a few hunched over the counters where some of the most potent drugs in the known world could be had for outrageous prices. A few women, all beautiful and scarcely clothed, roamed from table to table, occasionally leading a man up to one of the private rooms on the second level.
The Serpent’s Nest's interior looked just as dingy and dirty as its wretched exterior. Most of its patrons, however, looked out of place in the pitiful surroundings. Obviously men of some wealth, they dressed far too well to be from that vile section of the city. Had Sarthis been more attentive at his father’s court, he might have recognized some of them.
"What is your pleasure tonight, my friend?" Nalath asked. "Shall I bring you a drink? A pinch of witchdust, perhaps?"
He grinned as the prince’s gaze drifted to the many exotic women who strode about the room seductively.
"Or is it something else that excites your most refined tastes, dear prince?"
"Where is Taizenna?"
"Oh, of course," Nalath said, chuckling. His humor, however, did not seem genuine. "How could I have forgotten your most beloved viperess? I believe she is still in her room upstairs."
"Is there something wrong?"
"No, no. Nothing at all. It’s just that—"
"What?"
"I simply worry that she may not be…e
h…prepared for you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, she had a visitor earlier this evening. He paid a handsome sum for his time with her and she has yet to emerge from her room. Refused to see anyone else afterwards, in fact."
"I see." Sarthis reached into the folds of his cloak and produced a small bag of coins that he pressed into Nalath’s hand. "I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to be here, Nalath. You will see to it that I have what I came for, won’t you?"
Sarthis knew his family’s reputation always gave weight to his threats. His father was said to have men drawn and quartered for the smallest of offenses and, if the rumors were to be believed, his mother was even worse. There were few men brave enough to learn what the spawn of such devils might be capable of.
"Very well, consider her yours, my friend," Nalath said. His enthusiasm rang hollow. "I will inform her of your arrival."
"See that you do."
Nalath nodded and turned to go. Before he could take a step, Sarthis seized his arm and whispered into his ear.
"Who was this man who came for Taizenna? Did you know him?"
"No, your highness," Nalath said. "Perhaps you’d care to introduce yourself? He is still here."
"Where?"
"That pale fellow yonder with a bottle of my finest wine," Nalath said, pointing to a table across the room.
Sarthis looked across the room and spotted the man sitting alone in one of the brothel’s darker corners. He seemed engrossed in the pages of an old, tattered book. Darkness concealed the man’s eyes but his thin, sharp jawline seemed like it would be a characteristic mark to anyone describing him. The finely woven black cloak hung from his narrow shoulders and his dark clothes appeared free of the mud and dirt that so often caked the garments of weary travelers.
"You there," Sarthis said. The pale man paid him no mind, lifting the goblet to his mouth as he continued to read. Sarthis, not accustomed to being ignored, strode over to the table.
"Are you deaf or do you merely lack the wits for speech?" Sarthis leaned over the table as he spoke. The strange man took another sip of wine and set the goblet aside. He casually turned a page in his book.
"Neither, I assure you." His accent sounded strange. Sarthis could not place it.
"I’ve never seen you here before," Sarthis said. "Who are you?"
"Just a traveler searching for a moment of peace, which I had until recently enjoyed." The stranger still did not take his eyes off his book.
Sarthis reached out and shoved the heavy book off the table.
"I don’t care for your tone or your presence, sir. When I return I expect you to be gone or I’ll see to it that you’re carried out in pieces. Do I make myself clear?"
If the threat intimidated the pale man, he gave no sign of it. He took another sip of wine.
"Abundantly," he said.
Sarthis nodded harshly and sneered. His thoughts turned once again to Taizenna as he glared at the stranger.
"And if you dare touch my Taizenna again I swear you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life in agony in a place so dark that even the gods will never find you."
As Sarthis left, he kicked the stranger's book farther away from the table. He chuckled as he climbed the stairs leading up to his beloved whore.
Taizenna’s perfume overwhelmed Sarthis’s senses as he stepped into her small, lavishly adorned room. A dim oil lamp provided the room with its only illumination and the prince could scarcely see the outline of the whore’s bed in the shadows. Taizenna lay in the center of the large bed, her smooth, tattooed body coiled within the silken sheets. She looked up when he closed the door and Sarthis felt beads of sweat forming on his skin.
"Is that you, my prince?"
Her voice was thick and sweet like honey. Sarthis could just make out the silhouette of her magnificent hips as she rose to her knees upon the bed. Her long, black hair poured down from her shoulders and washed over her perfect, round breasts.
He said nothing, advancing on her with an eagerness born of a savage, almost animal, passion. Taizenna spread her arms wide to embrace him as he leapt onto the bed and forced her onto her back.
"Yes, my prince."
Sarthis ran his tongue along her neck and plunged his fingers into her thick black hair as her soft hands pulled urgently at his clothing. Taizenna quickly removed his shirt and moaned as she pressed her naked breasts against his skin. Sarthis shivered at the chill of her touch and he for an instant he thought it odd that she could be so cold when her small room felt so uncomfortably warm. But concern fled from his mind when she unlatched his belt and slid one of her cool hands along the inside of his thigh.
"Take me, my love," Taizenna said, whispering into his ear as she wrapped her tattooed legs around his waist and lowered her body onto him.
Sarthis cried out as he thrust into her, but not with pleasure.
She felt like ice inside.
He tried to pull away, but Taizenna tightened her embrace.
"Don’t leave me," she said. Her nails cut into Sarthis's back and her thighs nearly forced his air from his lungs. As his blinding passion left him, Taizenna's skin felt colder and clammier to the touch.
"Please," she said, her once honeyed voice now frosty and brittle. "Don’t stop, my prince, don’t stop."
"Let go of me, woman!"
"No, please."
"Damn you, I said—"
As Sarthis spoke, the gas lamp brightened and he looked upon Taizenna’s face for the first time that night. No sound escaped his slack lips when he saw the empty, glassy eyes staring back at him. The entrancing green pupils that graced his dreams on so many nights had disappeared, leaving only hollow white orbs utterly bereft of emotion. A pattern of deep bruises ringed her neck. Sarthis knew the marks well, for he had left them on many women himself.
Someone had strangled her.
"What’s wrong, my darling?" Her face, though still stunningly beautiful, remained expressionless and blank. "Don’t you still love me?"
Terror finally seized him as he struggled fiercely to escape Taizenna’s grasp. He managed to pry himself free and flopped clumsily off the bed. Before he could scramble to his feet, Taizenna pounced on his back and tried to embrace him once more.
"No, my love, please don’t leave me!"
"That’s quite enough, child," another voice said. It was a rattling, raspy voice that made Sarthis shiver. Taizenna’s body ceased struggling against him and she rose to her feet, allowing Sarthis to get off the floor. Naked and unarmed, he got to his knees and looked towards the source of the unsettling voice. In the far corner of the room, Sarthis watched a figure emerge from the shadows. Though he could not see the figure’s face, he identified his grim garb and disposition without difficulty.
"You!"
The pale stranger stepped forward and removed his hood to reveal a surprisingly young face. Long, black hair framed his narrow features and his dark eyes seemed to absorb the light around his face.
"We meet again, your highness," the stranger said with a wry smile.
"What…what are you talking about? I’m not—"
"There is no reason to continue your pitiful charade with me. I know quite well who you are, Prince Sarthis of Valimere, heir to the throne of Kurn."
"How do you know my name?"
"Your highness, you give your cunning far too much credit. I’m afraid there are few men here who don’t know who you really are. You should keep in mind that even the simpleminded can be offended to the point of betrayal."
"What do you want with me?" Sarthis asked.
The pale man laughed.
"I can assure you that I want nothing to do with you. I would prefer not to have the air I breathe spoiled by your presence."
"You dare?" Sarthis said. He made to lunge at the cloaked figure but even as his muscles tightened to propel him forward, his courage faltered. The penetrating glare of the stranger’s dark eyes sapped the strength from his limbs and he cowered.
"You misjudge your position. Your ignorant subjects might cower before your inbred lineage, but we both know that yours is a lesser house of traitors and misbegotten bastards. I imagine a dozen wretches from this slum could claim closer kinship to the great kings of old Kurn."
Sarthis tried to imagine the pale man nailed to a table, his chest splayed open as his quivering voice begged forgiveness for such vile slander, but the he was too frightened by the stranger’s unsettling stare to concentrate long enough.
"Who are you?"
The man shrugged.
"Does it matter? You have many enemies, Prince Sarthis. If you gave as much attention to your responsibilities as heir to the throne as you have to your reprehensible pursuits of pleasure then it could well have been your father kneeling naked before me, with the reward awaiting me for his death given over by your own ambitious hand. But there’s little sense discussing things that might have been; we all must live, and die, with the choices we’ve made."
Sarthis wept.
"Don’t be ashamed, your highness. You’re hardly the first man to squander his life in such a way. Though you may find it difficult to believe, I do pity you. Perhaps it’s not through any fault of your own that you’ve come to such a fate, for fatherhood is seldom the province of men so vile and mendacious as your sire. In a way, I sympathize with your plight."
"But not so much that you will deny yourself the pleasure of killing me?" Sarthis asked, sobbing.
"No, dear prince, you misjudge me. Killing you, that is strictly fulfilling my half of a bargain. But killing your beloved whore, Taizenna?" He leaned over the bed and kissed the dead woman deeply. Her hands reached up to caress his pale face even as he pulled away from her and looked back to Sarthis.
"That was a rare pleasure."
He reached into his cloak and produced a small dagger, which he handed to Taizenna.
Without a sound, she sprang from the bed and slipped the dagger between Sarthis's ribs. A cold flame ignited just beneath his skin as he fell onto his back. Sensation fled first from his arms and then from his legs. In his last gasps of life, Sarthis heard a harrowing voice in his ear.
Distant Worlds Volume 2 Page 3