Deeping Lore - 2. Chapter 2 - Kian's Plan

Rain wreathed around the obsidian parapets and domes of Zanda in a gossamer death shroud of Winter. The moisture left the cobblestone streets glimmering black under a sky that cracked with lightning; rolled with thunder. Kian and Renfro stood beneath the notice of powerful men in the long shadows cast from the Blades Acuuarum, the training grounds of the Cataclysm Slayers of Zanda. Freezing water dripped from Kian’s long eyelashes; his cloak was soaked completely through. Even in his killsuit, he was cold and shivering.

They’d been out here for almost two hours.

He rested his armored palm against this ancient edifice built upon the edge of the Well of Zanda. The Hall of the Blades Acuuarum had been erected by Blackstone Giants, quarried from the pits by foreign slaves at the base of the Mountains of Illusion that rose like the sharp finger bones of massive skeletal warriors in the East. Each considerable rock in the foundation stood taller than Kian; its weight unfathomable to him. The fortress itself was monolithic, it soared above the two thieves with one-hundred foot bulwarks. However, Kian still marveled that it was easily one of the smaller buildings on this side of Dreaded Irtemara’s Holy City.

On the far side of the fortress was a sheer drop of almost a thousand feet into the turbulent fluorescent waters of the Well of Zanda. At night, the Well was a terrifying sight. By day, it wasn’t much better. The waters flowed a putrescent green and circulated in a counter-clockwise motion around a blackstone mountain that rose from the very center. The mountain was home to the Librarium Apocalypto, the palace of the Dreaded Irtemara, and the Basilica of Zanda. These three structures fused together into a towering castle that rose above all things in the city; it was accessible only by a single bridge in the shape of a serpent’s tongue and flanked by unmoving collossi.

Hundreds of towers, minarets, and walls concealed monstrous horrors and unspeakable abominations. Torches flared from windows at all hours of the night and day, giving it the appearance of a miniature city. It was said that rivers of human blood flowed in the halls of the Library. As if that weren’t enough to discourage unwanted visitors, beneath, in the waters of the well, swam the Lemortis Corpiem—demons from beyond the Veil of the World. Called thus by the Aquarians of Khaal, Goddess of the Sea, Lemortis Corpiem simply translated to, “The Skin that Swims”.

Kian peeked around the corner, his eyes the color of newly minted coppers flashed here and there. The narrow streets were beginning to fill with festival goers who turned out to see the dances performed by the naked Coatlicue who would be covered in oily body paint and who would engage in orgiastic revelry before participating in the Feast of the Lad at the apex of their wicked night.

Kian observed the entrance to the Librarium Apocalypto with some intrepidness. Two enormously fat colossi made of industrial steel with faces that wept rivers of molten rust gazed with unblinking eyes over the procession that emerged at this early hour from the gargantuan basilica. They spilled out from the citadel, pouring forth like the vacating of bowels from the corpse of a titan onto the streets of Zanda. Torches hissed in the rain as they strode past wailing into the night in celebration of their God’s insanity. Kian’s eyes flicked from the glistening nude bodies of men and women carried on palanquins and returned to the Guardians that flanked the serpent’s tongue. The hair of the colossi was metal braided cable; the mouths, chin and neck flowed into the chest and belly of these morbidly obese constructs.

“What lies beyond the colossi?” Kian whispered.

"I’ve no idea,” Renfro answered him. “This is as close to the Guardians that I’ve dared to approach.” Kian saw that he was trembling.

He gave him a reassuring pat on the back, pointed upward at the rain falling in thick drops. Gutters in the shape of gargoyle mouths spilled water from the roofs onto the street. A viscous sludge in the center of the alley in which they stood, served as an open sewer, ferrying refuse downhill toward the less elevated areas of Zanda and the people that lived there.

“I’ll drop a rope down for you,” he said. Then he placed his helmet on his soaking wet head. Renfro heard the visor suction down on the boy’s thin, graceful neck, sealing against the armor directly under his jawline.

Renfro nodded automatically as he’d grown used to agreeing with Kian in the short time they’d been together. But then he realized there was a problem with what he’d said. “Wait, how—“

Kian flickered and disappeared; it left Renfro slack-mouthed and in awe.

He’d invoked the first of his God-given gifts, of which there were three.

Each Black Dragon assassin had them, but no two were alike. There was one for the mind, one for the body, and one for the soul. Kian’s gift of the soul was a quantum sidestep, and he used that to take him to the roof. In the blink of an eye, he was gone and reappeared one-hundred feet above the street. His cibrian cleats on the sole of his boot punctured the porcelain tiles and gave him traction against the rain. With his gloved hands, he pulled himself up to where the spire joined the roof and then removed a black silken rope from a bag. He dropped that over the edge.

The tail end of the rope hit Renfro on the shoulder. He tugged on it once to make sure it was secure. Seeing no one around, he used it to help him climb the smooth side of the wall.

“Why did you want me to come along?” Renfro asked him, mopping water from his face. “I’m just holding you back.”

Kian opened his visor; smiled at him, his teeth a perfect white line against pink healthy gums. “You’re the guild assassin. I’m just a visitor here; I wanted to scout out this place; find out the best means for us to get inside.”

He peered around the corner at the Guardians. Their lidless eyes moved slightly and looked directly at him. Shocked, Kian hid behind the spire again. “They can see me!”

“That’s the rumor,” Renfro confirmed, the line of his mouth turned downward. “The Guardians of the Librarium Apocalypto were created to ensure the security of their sanctuary. Their eyes are all-seeing.”

“Is there a way past them?”

He shook his head. “I…I don’t know, Kian. I’m sorry.”

Hunter looked at him, water dripping off his narrow aquiline nose that looked sculpted from rock. Renfro shook it from his shoulders; he looked like a wet rat with bold green eyes and a nervous twitch. Kian slid his visor closed and started to climb the stone spire when his companion lost his footing. The boy screamed into the wind and over the edge he went, hurtling toward the ghastly waters of the haunted well far below them.

Kian swore and leapt off the roof, drew his sword in mid-air and plummeted after him. Bloodbane awoke at Kian’s familiar grip. The handle of the sword unraveled veins of pure corobidian and slid them into his wrist, through small holes around the cuff of his armor for just such a purpose. These veins always hurt when they slid into Kian’s flesh and became part of his circulatory system. They turned scarlet with the assassin’s blood as his heart pumped it into the magical blade.

Bloodbane exulted in the life it consumed from its master.

He gave the sword a stern shake; it transformed into a composite long bow and fired an arrow that trailed a cord of corobidian ribbon. In the next instant, while the arrow was still in flight, he sidestepped; reappeared beneath Renfro and caught him in his arms. The arrow transported with him; on its reappearance, it continued in its trajectory and slammed into the rock cliff that marked the edge of the Well of Zanda. The arrow head spun clockwise on the rock and cored the granite. Kian wrapped the lanyard around his forearm; it went taught. Sparks flew as the ribbon sliced along Kian’s armor, corobidian against corobidian. Their fall was broken instantly and they careened into the unyielding face of the cliff. At the last moment before impact, Kian turned his body so that he’d take all of the force of the collision on his back and ribs.

It knocked the air out of Kian’s lungs.

He held onto the boy and looked down at the swirling green waters of the well. Rain that fell from his boot left a steady trail that dribbled into the liquid; he was worried that something might be attracted to a disturbance on the surface. His cloak fluttered down from above and drifted out onto the water, disappeared beneath the churning waves.

He popped the visor to his helmet. A putrid smell of rotting flesh rose up from below.

“Climb up the lanyard.”

Renfro, wordlessly nodded and started to climb. He was wearing leather gloves, but the sharp metal that had sparked off Kian’s suit cut through the gloves and into his flesh. Kian watched as a few drops of blood fell; he caught them in his open palm. Despite the rain, he was sweating and looked down to see shadows beneath the glowing green surface. “Tethyr’s Teeth,” he muttered. Kian glanced around to get his bearings. He saw a ledge about forty feet up; he directed Renfro to it. Then he joined him with a flicker of the sidestep.

“How did you do that?” Renfro asked when they were safely on the ledge.

“Do what?” Kian pulled out his bag, grabbed a shirt he carried in it. He closed his visor so that he could control the armor he wore using the tongue pad on the inside of his helmet. He unsheathed the cibrian wrist knife, a blade of rainbow metal almost two feet in length that appended from his wrist and emerged from a raised compartment on his forearm. He cut his shirt into strips, wiped some medicinal ointment that he carried in a belt pouch onto the strips, and bound Renfro’s hands where he was bleeding.

Then he grabbed Bloodbane, gave the bow a shake, and it transformed into a sword again. He sheathed it in the scabbard hung upside down along his back and waited a moment for the veins to come loose from his wrist. The veins as they coiled themselves about the ornate black handle shook off a few drops of Kian’s blood that spattered on the ledge.

Renfro stared at him. “How did you transport like that?”

“It’s a gift I earned by getting in good with Tethyr. I’ve three such gifts—that’s one of them.”

“What’re the other two?”

Kian considered not telling him; the more a person knew about you, the more vulnerable you became to them. He turned his head into the icy wind which lashed his black corobidian helmet, scattering drops of rain that had turned partially to snow. “I asked to be blessed with divine agility, and with permanent immunity to magic.”

“You’re immune to magic?”

“Most of the time, yes. Only extremely powerful magic can affect me—like that thrown by disciples or equivalent level beings. It’s been as much a blessing as a curse, trust me. I’d be a father now if I hadn’t chosen that particular gift. I thought myself so fucking damned clever.” He clenched a fist and punched the rock wall. He instantly regretted doing that and shook his hand painfully to get the blood circulating again. “That smarts a bit.”

“Why do you want to be a father?”

He looked at Renfro’s curious emerald eyes. “Because I’m in a position to give my child the life I never could have. My child would know what it’s like to be cherished. And I’d keep him safe from this dastardly world. Then I think I could find some peace with myself.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Kian looked up, popped open the smoky glass visor and stared upward with his excellent vision. Directly underneath the bridge was another, much older bridge with significant portions of it drooping in ruin. The rusted, pitted frame still spanned the gulf of the Well of Zanda, almost 800 feet by Kian’s measure, and joined onto a terrace of the citadel a hundred feet down from the arched entrance of the Basilica of Chaos. Kian craned his neck, the arch of the basilica high above was a thing to see.

It must rise a thousand feet he thought. It had been lovingly carved by ancient craftsmen from ebony rock, shaped into skulls of varied size and expression. Some had closed mouths, others had jawbones that hung wide; glistening obsidian tongues hung between pointed teeth.

The falling rain made the mouths appear as if drooling.

“How ghastly,” he said, grimacing. However, through the mist and rain, Kian could discern the faint outline of a door on the far side of the span.

“—For saving my life,” Renfro stated, wiping the water from his face.

“Wait here,” Kian cautioned. Then he vanished and reappeared on the ledge where he’d spotted the portal. Kian brushed spider webs out of the way and moved toward a set of bound iron doors. They were inset within a stone frame made of charcoal blocks flecked with bits of silver; they rose up another four feet taller than he stood. His narrow, booted feet made imprints in the dirt that collected at this long unused entry. These doors were sealed with molten lead, the handles wrapped in glowing chains made from thick corobidian rings.

He stared back across the gulf; the rickety bridge had a similar door on the far side. He teleported over there, brushed away a coating of slime. “What is this?” he asked himself, considering the span, the doors, and the magically enchanted chain in one singular thought. Behind the slime covering, he discovered a similar ingress; it was also sealed with lead. However, there were no visible chains on this side.

Renfro fidgeted on the ledge and hugged himself to try and stay warm. While Kian searched the structure above, he entertained himself by gazing down into the Well of Zanda. The horrific waters churned, the sound was like a slow grind against rock. Mist rose in faint wisps above the slow-moving waves; he thought he saw ghostly hands moving in the viridian liquid just beneath the surface. There was a narrow beach, maybe only a few feet wide, made entirely of basalt; it ringed the well as far as he could see. There were bones there, skulls and ribcages; from this distance, they looked human.

He swallowed hard, realizing he’d almost been one of them.

Then, Kian reappeared. “Do you know what that door is up there?”

“My father told me that there used to be another way into the House of Zandine. They replaced it with that bridge about 50-years ago. You can see why; even from here it looks like it’s about to fall.”

“I agree with you. However, it’s strong enough to support a few individuals. That’s our way in. See, that’s why I brought you. Without you, I’d never have seen that.” Kian’s eyes crinkled around the edges; they were laughing eyes and it warmed the stricken green-eyed thief.

Renfro managed a smile and Kian gave him a hug.

“Now what’s say you and I get out of here? I don’t know about you but I’m starved; I’ve not eaten in almost 20-hours. When I go that long without food, I get headaches and nosebleeds.”

~~~~~

Markain Dolmani awoke to the sound of heavy raindrops just outside his window. He lay under his thick covers cursing at the chill in the air. However, he still found the time to pleasure himself to climax with a bit of lotion. To spur his erection, he entertained visions of thrashing Kian with clenched fists, of raising bruises and blood on his naked skin, and ravaging both him and the girl Dominique until they were both incontinent. When he was ready, he pulled out a mason jar and milked himself into it. The contents of previous days clung to the insides and smelled foul. He grinned and sealed the lid and tucked it away with the rest of his belongings to be used at a future time.

He stood up, walked to the door, and called for a serving girl.

“Dress me, wench,” he ordered.

“Yes your imminence.”

He struck her across the face, the ring on his finger that signified his station left a red cut from nose to mouth. “It’s pronounced eminence, you stupid, filthy girl.”

She quickly corrected herself and dressed the priest in his holy garments, first draping him in his blessed underwear and then helping him to don the gray and black holy robes of Tethyr’s chosen. Following this, she took his brimming chamber pot to be emptied. He applied fresh oil to his hair, smoothed it back with a comb, and draped the heavy gold ropes from which depended his holy symbol around his neck which he polished on a silken sleeve.

He left his room and went in search of Kragar; he found him within his office enjoying a bit of respite, nursing tobacco smoke from a long curved pipe.

“Good morning Markain Dolmani,” the elder priest greeted him.

He clasped his hands together, “And a good morrow to you, brother.”

He slid a tray over to him. There was a plate with fresh bread, some fruit, butter, and hot porridge. There was even a slice of ham. “Have some—I’m not hungry this morning and food is scarce.”

Dolmani reached for the bread, broke it with his fingers and smoothed butter over the surface that was still warm from the oven. He stuffed his face; followed with a spoonful of porridge and ham. He spoke while he was eating, spitting crumbs over Kragar’s desk. “Is the boy up yet?”

“Hunter?”

“Yes. Or do I have to kick him out of his bed; make him aware that he can’t just expect to freeload on the back of the church because he’s cute?”

“He’s just come back from scouting out a way to get into the Library without being seen.”

“What do you mean he’s just come back? Who gave him permission to do that?”

“The boy doesn’t need permission, Dolmani. It’s his job.”

“You’re an old fool. He works for the priesthood not the other way around. He needs to be put on a tight leash and taught respect.” He swallowed the rest of the bread. “Where is he?”

“Kian’s through that door, in the common room eating with the others. Renfro seems to have taken a liking to him.”

“Most people would.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean that he views him as a friend.”

“And what exactly do you think to which I was referring if it wasn’t his charming personality? Get him in here. I’ll have him debrief me on everything that he learned.”

“I don’t follow orders from you,” Kragar said. “If you want to debrief him, call him yourself. You can use my office; I’ve some things to attend to in the church to prepare for services.” Kragar stood up, muttered something under his breath, and walked out.

Dolmani half tossed the mostly empty bowl of porridge on the desk. He grabbed the grapes and crushed them in his lips; hungrily devoured the rest of the ham, stuffing his mouth with his greasy fingers. The boy irritated him; he needed to be leashed and the sooner the better. As he was sitting there thinking, his eyes wandered over Kragar’s desk. He saw the wax seal that the priest used, reached for it, then melted and sealed a blank parchment with it. Then he tucked it away in his bag. “We’ll see old fool how long he respects you,” he said under his breath.

He walked over to the door covered in red kid leather, opened it and peeked out into the sitting room which was full of smelly commoners. His eyes moved over the crowd of unwashed faces, looking for the white-blond hair of the assassin whose codename was Hunter. He wasn’t difficult to find. Kian was just now sitting down at a table; in his hands he held a pewter tray with two slices of warm bread and a small bowl of porridge, the same as had been rationed to everyone else.

The Atlantean youth was astonishingly cute; he watched him for a moment, admiring the way he slid the bread into his small mouth. He ate slowly, chewed on his food an impossibly long time before swallowing; Dolmani saw that he never spoke up until his mouth was empty despite the lively conversation at his table. Girls and boys alike stared at him.

It was so pretentious.

He watched him take a bite of the tasteless porridge; the way he rolled his eyes at how good it was Dolmani believed was just a laughable cry for attention. Worse yet, people bought into it. The cook gushed and told him he could have some more if he was still hungry after he finished with his meal.

“Kian!” The conversation in the room dropped to a low hush. The blond boy looked his direction.

“Good morning, your eminence. I see you’re awake now,” he beamed. “I took it upon myself this morning to have a look around with good ole Renfro and I think you’ll be pleased at what we came up with together. I’ve got a plan—“

“—Yes, yes. I heard,” he cut him off. “Get in here and compare notes with me so that I can see if anything you turned up is different than what I already knew. We’d be on our way but in something as important as this, I want to make sure your information complies with that retrieved by skilled spies that we’ve had in the city for ten years. What a waste to think that in a single morning you could get the same information.” The last sentence was purposefully sarcastic and venomous.

Kian swallowed hard, and glanced around the room. “I apologize, your eminence. I’d no idea that you’d already had your own people working on this.”

“You’re not a priest, Kian. God doesn’t speak to you and if you ask me, you’ve not the intelligence for it. But, he speaks to me. Next time, before you go thinking that you’re wiser and more clever than Tethyr himself, perhaps you should clarify with someone that actually talks to him.”

“May I join you in a moment, sir? Please, I-I just sat down to eat.”

“I said now! You expect me to wait while you finish your breakfast? Maybe if you’d eaten when you first got up you wouldn’t need to impose on my time, eh? Something else to think about; stop being so selfish.”

Kian sternly set his jaw, stood up, and lifted his tray to take with him.

“Leave that there. There’s to be no food in the Master’s study.”

Kian looked crestfallen. “But what am I to do with it?”

“Leave it with the boy.”

“Your eminence, I’m starving. I’ve not eaten but a mouthful in more than twenty hours. I need this food.” Dolmani looked at Kian’s stricken face, his bone lean form that he knew was at this point just skin and a shallow smattering of fat covering muscle and sinew. The boy’s brown eyes looked desperate, almost on the verge of tears. He still looked healthy, but he couldn’t go more than a few days without food before he’d be gaunt. This gave him a sick kind of pleasure as he thought about that. He’d like to see the boy starve. Maybe bruises would be more pronounced on a starving boy; a good beating and a broken nose would improve his looks.

“Stop whining like a sick whore that needs to go to work. Need I remind you how blessed you are just to be in my constant service? Get in here this instant. Consider it an order from the church.”

Kian set the tray down, “Go ahead and eat this, Renfro. I’ll be fine ‘til dinner.”

“You sure, sir?”

“Yes. Food is precious. Don’t let it go to waste.”

However, as Kian walked away, Renfro emptied the porridge into a clean handkerchief and added the bread and tied it off for Kian to eat later. The blond assassin, oblivious to Renfro’s act of kindness because of frustration and anger, followed Dolmani into Kragar’s study.

“Where is Master Kragar this morning?”

“He’s preparing the church for services which I expect you to attend. After that, we’ll be leaving.” Dolmani took a seat in Master Kragar’s chair, slid it a little so that it faced the warm fire crackling in the office. It was his attempt to intentionally obscure the flames so that most of the heat would be absorbed by himself and the overstuffed recliner in which he lounged.

He looked over the parchments and books on the desktop, grabbed a worn prayer book with a plain facade and tossed it to him. “Look that over and see if what the spies wrote coincides with what you know.”

Kian beheld the manual in his hands with respectful reverence, ran his nimble fingers over the leather cover. He took a seat in the other chair in the room and gingerly opened the book. Dolmani noticed that he occasionally looked up at him with those clear young eyes; his fingers trembled as he turned the pages. Dolmani’s inner self laughed at Kian. The boy was holding a damned prayer book and couldn’t tell the difference. He was so stupid, he didn’t deserve the respect he was lauded.

After a few minutes, he turned to the lean and hungry teenager. “Well?”

Kian blinked, eyes looking strained and bloodshot; his Adam’s apple bobbed under the skin of his throat. There was a small spot of blood under his left nostril; it was the nosebleeds he’d spoken to Renfro about that happened when he was desperately hungry. But Kian didn’t want to mention food again, not in the priest’s presence. But how was he to answer Dolmani without him catching on to the fact that he couldn’t read?

Kian resolved to just tell him what he’d discovered; see if he could deflect the conversation a little. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly, “There’s an older bridge that spans the expanse above the Well of Zanda. Its use was discontinued about fifty years ago; on the far side of it, there’s a door that must lead somewhere beneath the Basilica. I located the door on this side of the Well about a hundred feet down from the foundation of the Blades Acuuarum, the training hall of the Cataclysm Slayers of Zanda. I think that if we can get inside—“

“—Well, at least you offer something new. Give me that book.” He snapped his fingers impatiently.

Kian handed it to him. Even though he had no idea what it said between the pages, he loved looking at the scrawlings. He brushed the surface of the book tenderly with the tips of his fingers as it passed from his hand back to the priest.

It was a caress that went unnoticed.

Dolmani kept his hand extended. “—And?”

“—And what?”

“Whenever you give something to a man of God it’s customary for you to kiss his ring.” He motioned for him to do so.

Kian carefully took the priest’s fingers in his delicate hands and placed a single kiss on the large, solid gold ring adorned with rubies and diamonds in the shape of Tethyr’s holy symbol. The thing was large, almost obscene and gaudy; it dripped jewels. Dolmani had it crafted himself, as the prior design was too inconspicuous to be worthy of decorating his hand. “I apologize, your eminence,” Kian whispered. “I meant no offense.”

Dolmani snorted derisively, grabbed a cloth napkin and wiped his hand. “It’s a meaningless gesture that we should abolish in the church but they insist upon it so I obey. I’d prefer not to have the slobber of curs like yourself on my fingers.” He poured himself a glass of brandy from a goblet at the end of the desk. “So, I agree. Using that bridge you found was one of the three ideas presented in that book collected with the gold from the church’s coffers. I personally thought the bridge you found with that street rat—“

“—Renfro.”

“—Whatever. Don’t interrupt me again. Yours is the best option. So what’s your plan? We can’t just walk in there.”

“Why not?”

He laughed.

In the uncomfortable quiet that followed, Dolmani spoke up. “Need I remind you that the Church of Zanda is at war with the Church of Tethyr? Do you relish being tortured to death in the pits of agony?”

“Can you remind me sir?”

Dolmani misunderstood Kian's tone as being laced with sarcasm.

“Why you insolent—“ He grabbed a poker from the fire and held it aloft to bash him in the face. Kian held up his hands defensively and never once let the angry priest shatter his calm; he didn’t blink but stared upward into his furious countenance. He wouldn’t have looked away, even if the priest had been aiming for his eye.

“—I meant no insult. Please, hear me out before you hit me.”

Dolmani held his blow, “Speak and this better be good.”

“I meant to ask if you could remind me sir of why the Church of Zanda is at war with our faith. I wish to hear the story from your lips as the sweetness of your words will allow my mind to process it better than has been relayed to me in the past.” Kian meant it genuinely, as the traditions of Tethyr are oral and thus, never the same when told by the elders of the church.

Dolmani set the poker down and took another drink of brandy. “I suppose you’re right. If we’re to work together, you should be informed. Very well then.” He took a seat again and told him the story as he knew it.

“What I know comes directly from the Transcriptium Volhemural. It’s a tome about 3 feet by 3 feet in size, bound on the right by gold rings shaped like fish bones and kept by the Seers of Snowvale. It’s decorated with scales cut to resemble feathers and pressed on the surface with a tree that is drawn so that the roots beneath the ground resemble the canopy above it. The roots are dyed red with ruby dust while the foliage appears white against a black background—probably something cheap like mother-of-pearl.”

Kian marveled at the description of the book. He could see it in his imagination as sure as if it were lying on a table before him and wanted desperately to feel the cover under his fingertips. While Dolmani was speaking, he wiped some of the blood from his nose with a bit of cloth from the shirt he’d torn to make bandages for Renfro this morning. He’d kept them in a small leather pouch on his utility belt.

The text says that the ancient sword Deeping Lore was forged by the Chaos entity Volhemural Merkat in the Twilight Times before the First Age. It’s a black blade filled with the stars of the world; Deeping Lore has only one purpose…to humble Gods and Goddesses to whom Velhemural Merkat was extremely resentful, for They were praised in the Light of the Thread while Volhemural Merkat knew only of the Shadow. Volhemural Merkat sent forth its only agent, Zandine, who became a God in his own right, but a God who would eventually bring about the destruction of the universe. It’s laughable that people actually follow Zandine; any that believe in him deserve to drown in lakes of blood. Never forget that.”

Kian nodded, “I kill them whenever it’s appropriate, sire.”

“Good. Now Zandine brought forth the Sword of Black Flames (as it was known in the tongue of the Dwarves), Godslayer, known as Deeping Lore to the ancient elves and bequeathed the black blade to Xeylynn who would have his revenge on his brother Tethyr who had the heart of Inzilbeth and to whom was the ultimate object of his obsession. Xeylynn fell upon Tethyr and tried to kill the Godling with the blade, but his strike was not true, and Inzilbeth was the one that lay slain.”

Kian tried to keep his mind focused, despite his hunger. The priest’s words were fascinating to him; he loved hearing of the old days and the rise of his faith.

“As a result of this blood, an endless war has been fought on Wynwrayth, a War of Good versus Evil led by the titanic vengeance of Inzilbeth’s twin sister Taleta who became ruler of the Dark Powers of the early times and used her most ancient knowledge to gather a host of vile creatures to her so that they may cleanse the world in her never-ending wrath.

Deeping Lorewas cast out of the high places of Asanibyss where it was that the Gods had met to plan the shaping of the world. The first weapon, Deeping Lore vanished from history soon thereafter, said to be carried to the four corners of the world where it lays hidden to prevent its misuse in the world ever again. Because the blade was given to Xeylynn by Zandine, we are at war with the Church of Zanda until such a day as the God of Chaos himself is destroyed. According to the Transcriptium Volhemural, the trail of Deeping Lore will only be revealed by the Last Descendent of Tinerval, who would be identified by a silver, crescent moon-shaped mark on his left foot.”

Kian’s eyes perked up at that. “A mark on the left foot?”

“Yes.” Dolmani finished off his brandy.

Kian didn’t say a word. He knew who had that mark; it was a former lover—a young man whom he left to die in the slave pits of Kala-Pur. The boy’s name was Dylan Avery, possessed of silky black hair and eyes as blue as the ocean. Kian made the choice to leave him in the Corobidian Mines of Kala-Pur because there was no way he could have ensured his safety in leaving that dreaded place. Kian set out alone, managed to escape, and as soon as he could, he paid for Dylan’s freedom. However, Dylan had been in the mines for another year longer than Kian, and the terrible price of that had left him bitter. To this day, he’d not heard from him, didn’t even know where he was. He was also quite certain that Dylan had no idea who bought his freedom, or who paid the million pieces in gold that it took to get him out of the mines.

Kian only knew that of the many men and women he’d been with in the centuries he’d lived, that he truly loved Dylan.

The Corobidian Mines of Kala-Pur was the graveyard of the Great Houses that ruled Wynwrayth. The most pestilent and venomous criminals were sentenced to life imprisonment to toil within the mountains for the most precious metal in the known universe. Thirteen in number, the Great Houses were empires ruled by men or women appointed by the Gods and divided into countries that made up the Lesser Houses or Kingdoms of the world. The largest of the houses was Great House Sulas; its seat was Mon Arcanos, city of wizards. A thousand years ago they asserted their dominion when they raised their combined power and channeled it with the Pool of Arcanos and the Eye of Milbar. Their spell created a cataclysm that sundered their continent, forever shattering the lands that lay between Sulasia and Thularum, their hated enemy and drowned millions of people that dwelled in-between the empires in the oceans of the world.

Kian marveled at how much hate it must have taken to cast that spell.

“What are you daydreaming about?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, sir. My mind wanders when I’m hungry. It shan’t happen again.”

“So what exactly is your plan to get us into this Blades Acuuarum building? I want to hear its merit before I decide if it’s worth sticking my neck out.”

He nodded. “There are two entrances into the building. One is out front and is the main entrance flanked by two 150-foot towers with outward facing parapets and four levels inside the towers, each with room for four archers and enough ammunition to outlast a siege of several weeks. I don’t suggest we go in that way. Behind the building there’s a service entrance where goods are delivered. I made my way around the city this morning after three hours of sleep, and was able to find out that deliveries come from a supply depot at 5:00 every evening. There are two carts, each manned with four men who are heavily armed, a driver, and a porter. That’s a dozen total. My plan is to ambush this supply line shortly after it departs, kill the men, and then our people will dress up as them. At the doorway, they’ll be asked for the daily password. That’s where you come in. You’ll cast a spell on the driver’s corpse prior to us getting there and have him speak the password to you. That way you’ll know what it is and can get us inside. Once we’re in the courtyard and past the gate, we kill the men there. At this hour, there will be nine well-armed men, only three of which are Cataclysm Slayers. I’ll take care of those; you just make sure no one raises the alarm at the bell tower located near the granary bin.”

“Are we to ambush them in broad daylight?”

“It can be done. You paralyze two of the armed men with your magic. Prior to that, I’ll kill off two so quietly that the others won’t notice that they’ve been traveling down the road minus two guards. That leaves just four. I’ll kill off another two, leaving only two armed men. Renfro can handle one; we’ll grab someone else for the other. The drivers and the porters won’t be a problem and fights break out all the time in the streets of Zanda. It’ll happen at the height of festival anyway; most likely, the streets will be empty.”

Dolmani leaned forward, grabbed the napkin from under the plate of food he’d eaten, and blew his nose. “Three Cataclysm Slayers you say? No man can take on three of those.”

“Why not?”

“They’re highly resistant to electricity, fire, and spells and they are immune to all weapon damage. You’ll be without powerful magical assistance in dealing with them not to mention the fact that you’ll be unable to hurt them.”

“That’s fine, sir. I don’t use spells. As well, I’ve a cibrian blade.”

Dolmani nearly spit. “A cibrian blade? There’s not enough cibrian in the world to forge a sword.”

“I assure you, there is, and I have it. Cibrian ignores the immunity of the Cataclysm Slayers. I’ll be able to kill them.”

“Kian they have four arms, not to mention a tail. You’re going to get us killed.”

“Sir, have some faith. I know how to fight. There’s a reason you guys called on me.”

Dolmani swallowed distastefully. In truth, he had no idea what Kian was capable of doing—only that from where he stood, he preferred to think of the boy as a sex object than anything that could be remotely useful. He’d already determined Kian was too stupid to be his equal mentally. Physically, he looked no stronger than himself. How could he defeat three of the legendary constructs created through the will of the Dreaded Irtemara?

He sat in silence, staring out into the room. This plan was foolhardy, yet, had its merits. Dolmani decided that while religious services were taking place, he’d go and prepare an escape plan. He had a spell that he could enchant on something that would recall him safely to his room here in the guild should the assassin’s plan fall through. Then only the boy and any that travelled with them would die. That was an acceptable loss to the church; so much garbage taken out with the refuse.

“Alright,” he said, managing a smile. “I’ll trust you, Kian. I’ve complete faith in your abilities, actually,” he lied.

“Excellent. Thank you, your eminence.”

“Don’t mention it. Now you may leave; be sure to attend services in a few minutes.”

Kian got up walked out the way he came. In the commons room, most of the guild had dispersed following breakfast and all the food had been put away. He set his jaw, went to his chamber to wash and brush his teeth with baking soda and mint. His tummy rolled uncomfortably and he tried to calm it by placing his palm there. On his way down the hall, Renfro stopped him.

“Kian,” he whispered, getting the assassin’s attention.

He stopped, “Yes?”

“Here.” He handed him the handkerchief of food and a fresh apple. Kian’s eyes lit up when he saw that.

He took it, bit into the apple and rolled his eyes with pleasure. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to eat this morning. Maybe that’ll make services bearable.”

Kian gave Renfro a one-armed hug and kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you for the kindness. I’ll repay it someday, I promise.”

“You don’t have to. I’m repaying you for saving my life. If I happen across more food, I’ll get it to you. Rations are very tight here as the city has been under some strain getting supplies across the Wall of Illusion. Caravans to Zanda are easily choked and for every reason under the sun it seems.”

“I understand, it’s not the most pleasant of places.”

He shook his head, agreeing with him. “No it isn’t.”