When I awake, the bedside candle acts as the only source of light, leaving the circular room cast in a dim, flickering light. Around the bed, sit three figures in wooden chairs. I recognize Tulip, and the blonde man from before, whom I assume to be Drysten. But the third figure is unfamiliar to me. Like Tulip and Dyrsten, he wears a leather tunic that bears the mark of a sun which I now associate with The Covenant, however, the leather of his tunic is a dark emerald green with a gold plated trim.
“Good evening Draven.” Drysten says in a low voice. “Welcome humbly, to the only remaining home of The Covenant of the Light, the White Watchtower.”
I remember Drysten watching me from the door of the tower, as I lay on the ground bleeding out. The memory triggers anger to begin pumping through my body as well as bile to fill my mouth.
“You righteous cunt!” I yell at him, spit flying from my mouth. “You left me to die!”
“You ungrateful swine!” The man with the green tunic shouts, rising angrily from his chair. His hand flies to a sword strapped to his hip, and he steps towards me menacingly.
“Godrick. Sit down.” Drysten snaps, “He may be rude, but he is right. At least to some degree. Draven, I did not leave you to die, I was under the impression that you were already dead. Most men would crumple at a mere scratch from a plague beast, you suffered a great wound to your arm, and yet here you stand. Forgive me for assuming your state of mortality, was it not for Tulip here, you would have died. However, she saw that you were still breathing and she rushed you inside, wherein she worked her healing powers upon you, assisted of course by the ever-loving Azhorra.”
“In the name of the all-loving Azhorra-Tha,” they all echo in eerie unison.
I stare at the group. Dumbfounded. It feels like I’ve just wandered into the home of a weird, fucked up cult. Albeit one that saved my life, but a cult nonetheless. I add ‘Azhorra-Tha’ to my mental list of things to look into when I am able to move my body without screaming out in pain. Is it so much to hope that somewhere on this oppressive island, there is a library which holds some sort of information on all this crazy shit? I ask myself as I listen to Drysten continue speaking.
“You took down a plague beast. A feat that is nearly impossible by an untrained warrior. Who are you exactly? Where did you come from? And where, if I may so inquire, did you get those marvelous swords.”
My mind races, searching desperately for an excuse. These people may have saved my life, but they have not yet earned my trust. So I must fabricate an excuse to satisfy their interest, at least for the time being.
“As I told Tulip, I am a castaway. I was forcefully removed from the trading ship I was working on after I disagreed with and disobeyed my captain’s orders. He sent me overboard with nothing but the clothes on my back, and my two swords.”
I can tell by the look on their faces, that none of the three buy my story. But they also seem to acknowledge that even if they pried further, they would get no more than that which they had already received. So for now, they leave that aspect alone, and instead, Godrick decides to redirect the conversation.
“You must have seen the village,” hesays, still glowering at me from his chair, “And Tulip says that you knew nothing of the plague before she mentioned it. So why then, did you so brazenly charge into cursed lands?”
“I had no choice. I could not turn around my craft as I had already been afloat for three days and had no reason to continue living. My only hope was this tower, and I was determined to get here, regardless of the consequences. If my stay is of burden to you, I will not raise qualms if you ask me to leave. I only ask for simple provisions whilst I continue my journey.”
“Your stay is of burden to us, especially since we are low on supplies ourselves,” Says Drysten. “But, we have saved your life, and we will offer you provisions in exchange for a small favor.”
Here we go, they’re going to ask me to join their freaky cult. I say to myself. Silently laughing at the sheer absurdity of my situation.
“Please detail your favor I say,” Hoping my fake optimism comes through for what it is and isn’t mistaken for genuine interest.
“In the simplest of terms, I need you to retrieve a very valuable item for me.” Says Drysten. “A tome belonging to the covenant. One which contains all available information we have regarding the plague, its origins, and quite possibly the only cure. I have been compiling it for the past fifteen years, since the breakout, and just recently, it was carried away by a plague beast in an attack. Aelius, the solemn guard of this tome, The Tome of Knowledge, was killed in this attack and the beasts carried his body to the Forsaken Graveyard, just north of here, and with his body, they also took the tome.”
“So you want me to go get your book?” I ask. “In return for rations and shelter. Easy enough. I’ll go tomorrow and be back before lunch.”
I laugh. This is easy, I have to go steal an item and bring it back. This is all I’ve trained for my entire life. The thief in me begins immediately to plan my attack. Even without a map of the graveyard, I remember the old graveyard in Danor and utilize it as a frame of reference, thinking about sneaking through rows of tombstones, grabbing a book off the body, and dashing out, with nobody or nothing aware of my presence.
“Do not get cocky, nor arrogant Draven Lightfoot. This is no easy feat. The Forsaken Graveyard is a horrific, and cursed place.”
“As is this whole island.” I snip back, distracted by my planning.
Drysten pulls out a scrap of paper from his tunic, “This comes from the tome itself,” he says, “Godrick and I were reading it before the attack and we’re lucky it survived. This passage was written by Elandra Dawnbringer, our former leader.” He unfolds the yellowed crumpled paper and begins to read, “When the plague struck, both the bodies of the beasts as well as those killed by the beasts needed to be buried. The solution to this problem came in the form of The Forsaken Graveyard. Originally, they acted as a graveyard for victims of the plague. But soon, the bodies became so numerous and the population so few that mass graves began to be dug, although it eventually became too much of a chore to finish even these and they remained open. These mass graves became feeding grounds for the filth of the island and now harbor unspeakable carrion horrors.” Drysten pauses, allowing his words to hang in the air, their weight heavy and suffocating.
“So, heed my warning Draven Lightfoot, be cautious in your approach, and do not lower your guard for a second. It will result in your death.”
Drysten continues for a few moments to try and warn me about the potential dangers of letting my guard down, and talks about the many ways I could die on this small quest. But my mind has begun to wander as it always does before a job.
I think about the potentials of this mission. The good, the bad, and most importantly, the things that could go horribly wrong. I think through some of the previous jobs I’ve done, remembering not only the things that went successful but also the mistakes that I learned from.
I think through it all, and finally, I arrive in my mental archives at my last job. The one that got me exiled. It still hurts to think about it. I remember the emotionless face of the traitorous Thorin Ironblood as the words of King Tristan echoed through the throne room.
“Draven Lightfoot, on account of treason, I sentence you to death by exile!”
Exile… Exile… Exile... The word weaves its way through my very conscience. I shudder and brush away the harsh memory, violently wrenching myself back to the present where Drysten is looking at me expectantly.
“I beg your pardon?” I say, having completely lost his train of dialogue, choosing instead to focus on my thoughts.
“So you will do this then?” He asks, eyes full of hope.
“I will,” I respond, in no place to turn down the kindness of these people. Even if their existence on this island strikes me as odd and offputting.
“It is decided then, you will leave in three days' time, once your arm is healed. May the all-loving Azhorra-Tha bless your quest.”
“In the name of the all-loving Azhorra-Tha,” Tulip and Godrick echo.
And with that, they all three rise, and leave the room without further discussion. Leaving me alone with my thoughts.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
***
For some time, I ponder all of the possibilities regarding my future. In the scope of my current situation, it appears bleak and quite possibly could end in my death. However, if this book, this Tome of Knowledge, is as powerful as Drysten says it is, there may be some hope, at least for the islands here. I don’t envision myself staying on this island for a long time. Once I return the book, I plan to stay long enough to find a map of the surrounding area and sail westward.
After I finish thinking, I estimate the time to be almost midnight. By now, the tower has become quiet and dark. However, my room is hot, the air is stiff. So I step out of my makeshift bed and make my way to a ladder on the far side of the room, which I assume leads to the roof. In a desperate attempt for some fresh air, I shakily climb the ladder, carefully using my right arm to avoid reopening the scab on my left, my assumption proves to be correct, and I push through a wooden trapdoor, onto the roof.
The moon is full, and high in the night sky, the air is cool and dry. I take a deep breath and release it with a long, contented sigh. I like the heights, they calm me, and allow me to think clearly about anything and everything. As I lay my body down on the sloping stones of the pointed roof, my memories take hold of me, throwing me back to the last time I lay on a roof like this, in a much happier time of my life.
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Danor - City Rooftops
The red clay shingles of the roof crunch under my boots as I dash across the roof, leaping off nimbly at the structure’s apex and onto another roof across the way. For a minute I run like this, quickly moving from building to building. Desperately trying to escape from Caileen’s guards and their unruly shouting.
As I run, I notice something behind me, a shape, nimble and fast, following my exact path, and quickly closing in on me.
“You’d better run,” Val shouts from behind me.
Damnit. I think to myself, How in the hells did she get to me that fast? I don't have time to think about that now though, right now my only thoughts are focused on escaping her and earning my place in the thieves guild.
As I run, I notice a small circle of buildings around a market in town, I can’t hope to outrun Val for the remainder of my thirty minutes, but I can definitely attempt to escape her by slipping into the shadows with my new cloak. So that’s what I do. I catapult myself off of the edge of the roof I stand on, and somersault through the air, landing on the fabric tent of a market stall. I hear the fabric begin to rip under me, and the merchant below begins to yell, but I am moving too fast to take in much of it. I spring from the canvas, and take back off down the cobbled stone streets, as an afterthought, I toss the bag of gold from before back at the disgruntled merchant. It hits him square in the face, and he looks dumbfounded as it falls with a heavy clink onto his table of wares.
I slide down another sidestreet and find a small outcove in the wall, which I promptly squeeze my entire body into. I pull my cloak up tight around my body and focus my entire body on slowing my breathing. Not a moment too soon, because as I do so, I see Val hurriedly turn the corner. She stops dead in her tracks, and I’m sure she sees me, her eyes focus directly on me, and for a second, they pause. But she moves on after a second and I quietly release my pent-up breath. Val takes a few hesitant steps down the street, and as she does so, a large group of about twenty schoolchildren come rushing down the road from the opposite end. All the boys wear black slacks and white shirts, and they match the girls who wear black skirts and white blouses. The uniform of the church. They almost trample Val as they come screaming past. Val flattens herself against the wall opposite me and quickly begins to scale it. She’s always had issues with the church, and with every group of Sunday school children comes a group of priests, converts, and missionaries behind them. All of which, I’m sure, Val would rather avoid.
As the children pass, oblivious to both Val and myself, Val catapults herself onto the roof of the building across the street. That’s when I begin to build an idea in my mind.
Before she may have been the predator and I the prey, but, if I can reverse the roles. Truly prove myself to her, then there will be no debate about my place as a thief. And it’s that thought that pushes me to do what I do next.
As the obligatory group of breathless priests and missionaries come down the street, desperately trying to catch up to the group of children, I emerge silently from my outcove and scale the wall behind Val.
Reaching the top of the flat roof, I scan around, looking for her slender figure. But, she is nowhere in sight. I take a few hesitant steps, and every alarm bell in my head begins ringing, this is a setup, a trap. Even before I process that thought, a cold steel blade presses lightly into the back of my neck.
“You truly are predictable Draven Lightfoot,” Her voice is playful and quiet. She circles around to look me in the face, her beautiful hazel eyes gleaming in the midmorning sunlight. “You are supposed to be the best of the best, a prodigy of thieves, yet here you are, caught in the simplest of bait and switches.”
I flush with embarrassment. I should’ve known this was a trap. It was obvious, and now I’m kicking myself for not realizing it as such.
“Do not worry,” She says, lowering her dagger, “It has been thirty-one minutes. It appears that yet again, the lady luck has saved you by a hair.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief, and my whole body, tense from being trapped, relaxes. Val resheathes the dagger and places a hand on my chest, all pretenses of being a mentor dropped.
“Congratulations,” she whispers. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
“Yet again, I am surprised by your poise as a thief. You never fail to surprise me Draven.”
Val looks up at me, her eyes staring deeply into mine. She stands upon her toes and lays her lips gently on mine.
We’ve kissed before, but for some reason this time is different. There is a spark, magical and electric that fills the air between us. I can feel her body pulsing as she takes both of my hands in hers and holds them tight. Whilst the feelings shared between us before were those solely of lust, I think now that they may have evolved into love. As we part, that feeling is amplified through my body, as Val whispers the words which I will forever hold onto.
“I love you Draven Lightfoot, Master Among Thieves.”
“I love you too Valena Bladesong.”
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“I love you too…” I echo aloud, lying on the cool grey stones of the tower’s roof, remembering that special sunlit morning. And then comes the pain, the remembrance of Val’s abrupt exit from my life, the night in the forest, her fight, my exile, and the fact that we will never see each other again.
Tears well up in my eyes, I let them. For the first time since the day Val left my life, I cry in true and utter sadness. Sobs wrack my body, I feel the emotion coursing through every vein, every fiber of my being. I do not know for how long I lay there, but by the time I am able to wipe my eyes and look back at the moon, it is low in the western horizon and the faintest rays of sunlight shine from the east.
I gather myself and take the ladder back down, careful of my arm, the pain of which has been reduced to a dull constant aching sensation. I begin to make my way back toward the makeshift bed, silently creeping across the room when a noise downstairs catches my attention. A soft chanting in a language I don’t recognize.
I sneak over to the landing and peer over to see Draven, Tulip, and Godrick all on their knees in a rough circle on the floor below me. Their arms are splayed out, hands interlocked and their backs are arched with their necks pointed at an unnatural angle towards the roof.
“Azhorra-Tha, grant thine strength upon us, show us your knowledge.” The three chant in unison.
And then they go into a chant, spoken completely in an incomprehensible language made of harsh consonants and spitting words. None of which bears any similarity with any of the languages I know of.
As they chant, a glowing cloud of black matter forms between them, it writhes like smoke, but it is darker than that. The shape is dark, and completely impenetrable by light of any kind. It takes no form, but instead, it fleets around the circle of arms, hissing violently at the three members. After a moment, orange light begins to come out from its center, in a lightning-shaped pattern, casting the room in blinding light.
With a deafening crash, the light explodes, through the tower. Momentarily blinding me, filling the world with a light as bright as the sun itself.
As the light fades, my vision readjusting, and my ears ringing in shock, I see the black shape again, this time it makes its way in through the still-open mouths of the three people on the floor.
The bodies jerk involuntarily, shuddering as they are entered by the black mass. They all scream, but the sound is so gargled and mutilated that it comes out as a shrill, shrieking sound.
I watch, stunned, as this all happens. Trying to figure out what exactly to do. My body itself is frozen, my eyes glued to the scene. I tremble, my body breaking out in goosebumps as I watch the horror below me unfold.
Just as quickly as it begins, it is over. The three figures stop screaming, the light fades, and the soft chanting resumes. Leaving me to wonder what the fuck I just witnessed, and whether or not getting a book for these people is still worth my life.