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Sliced
The hero rode into Siegekeep without fanfare. His armour shone in the morning sun, plain steel of excellent quality, decorated with numerous charms and other accoutrements so that it appeared to be of elaborate design. Strapped to his back was an impressively large sword, its hilt inset with a line of emeralds. His horse – an animal that would put to shame those of most nobles – bore a small armoury of weapons of similar quality, as well as an array of equipment that looked sufficient to cover any eventuality imaginable, yet the animal seemed unburdened by its load. As might be expected with such a grand spectacle, an awed hush preceded him down the city streets. Few noticed the man at the centre of all this; his gaunt features, his hollow cheeks, his ashen hair. The empty eyes.
Vermin certainly did not. He saw only the glory. The street rat was mesmerised by the figure waiting patiently at a particularly busy intersection, so much so that he almost did not notice Sweep trying to lift a few of the man’s more obviously valuable items.
With a yelp of display he yanked her back before she could do any harm. The hero rode off before she could finish scolding him and try again, leaving Vermin wondering where he could get a horse and a sword like that.
Than was in a storeroom, sorting writing implements when the knock came. It had been firmer than most of his master’s clients would have dared, though that was not why he ran to answer it. He hurried because Krellain did not like it when clients were made to wait and the storerooms were at the back of his home. He dashed through the cluttered sitting room, receiving only a raised eyebrow from his master in acknowledgement, barely avoided running into the wall of the hallway (twice!) and skidded to a halt in the entryway. He made the appropriate gesture and the door swung silently open to reveal a figure armoured in shining steel, wealthy, judging by the amount of ornamentation, yet unfamiliar to him.
“Welcome… to the residence of… master Sorcerer… Kel’Karver Krellain,” he wheezed. “Please *gulp* come with me.” Than needed to look back to be sure he was being followed; the stranger's armour was uncannily silent when he moved. He was almost back to the sitting room when he realised that he had not asked for the stranger’s coat or hat or whatever it was that armoured men hung on the rack when they came inside. Well, this one did not seem the sort to take up the offer anyway. He hoped master Krellain would not mind.
When he showed the man in, it seemed to Than that his master’s expression was ever so briefly disappointed. But only for a moment, and then his shop-face was back.
“What do you have for me this time?” Abrupt, as usual.
The man responded by opening the sack he carried – rather plain, but in exceptionally good condition, and decorated with a number of arcane symbols Than thought resembled some his master used – and reaching in too far before pulling out the severed head of an animal Than had never seen before, large and vaguely feline, yet horned. He tossed it to the still-sitting Sorcerer, who caught it easily.
Than hovered by the door, uncertain of what to do. Usually he sat in while his master interviewed clients. But Krellain seemed to know this one already and Than was sure he had never seen him before, so maybe this was one of those times he would want to be left alone. Krellain told him to stay just when Than had decided it would be best to leave. “It is time you saw the darker side of our craft,” he said.
Than took a closer look at the man, puzzled by the remark. He did not seem particularly sinister. In fact, he looked like a hero out of the stories, clad in shining armour, with weapons that glittered brilliantly even in the torchlight of Krellain’s sitting room. It was not until Than managed to look past all that to the man inside that he noticed something wrong. ‘What is he mourning? I hope he doesn’t expect us to raise the dead for him.’ The young apprentice shuddered.
“I would introduce you… but I am afraid my friend here no longer recalls his name.” Krellain did not take his gaze off the head long enough for Than to read his expression. The white-haired youth did not know what to say.
Kel’Karver finished his examination. “This is interesting. However, I could have made better use of an intact pelt. I can give you three thousand for this one.”
The man spoke for the first time since arriving, his voice breaking from disuse. “I think that was the last one. Should be worth a bit more just for that. Ten thousand? And I need a new knife. This one broke on its ribs.” He produced a blade ending in a jagged break after just a few centimetres. It had obviously once been much longer.
“It broke? Show me.” Krellain put the head down on one of the less full endtables before accepting the hilt. He examined it as carefully as he did everything brought into his home.
“Hm. Five thousand,” he muttered casually. “I can fix this. Easier if you have the rest, or it will lose effectiveness.”
The stranger upended the sheath on the table, spilling out the remainder. “Nine. Unique specimen, you see how tough it was,” indicating the broken dagger again.
“Six thousand if you give me the rest of the body, and I fix the dagger free. Otherwise, five and you pay. No higher.”
“Deal. I also require you to make something else for m-“
“No.”
“What? Kel’Karver, -“
“I said no. No more. It is enough.”
“You have not seen my payment yet.”
“I have. It is too much. I do not care what else you have in there.” It did not make any difference. The stranger was reaching back his sack before he had even finished talking. By the time Krellain had made his objections he had already withdrawn a slender object wrapped in soft leather. The room seemed to grow colder with its presence.
He pushed the dagger fragments to one side and laid the package down on an increasingly crowded table. He gently unwrapped it, armoured fingers moving as nimbly as if they were bare to unveil a dagger made entirely from ice.
Than moved to get a closer look, even though the cold had intensified to the point where he had to struggle not to shiver. It was covered with unfamiliar engravings, reminding the young apprentice of Ishkan’an script, though it clearly was not.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Sufficient reason,” Krellain replied, breath misting. “What do you want? Something defensive, I presume.”
“Offensive as well. A spear would be nice.”
“This will be… interesting. Kretai magic is ancient.” His gaze sharpened on the armoured figure. “I trust you did not incur their wrath deliberately.”
“They were sacrificing,” was all he said. Than thought he detected the slightest hint of a shrug beneath the shining armour.
“Mm,” the Sorcerer said, clearly not pleased. “I will need time to prepare. You will stay with us tonight, of course.”
Than learned nothing more of their guest before the morning, though with only one other customer – a woman seeking a charm to aid her husband’s fishing business – he had plenty of time to wonder. The stranger, as far as Than could tell, sat in his room all day doing nothing. The boy saw this for himself after getting up the nerve to ask him some questions in the afternoon. His first sight upon entering the room was of the man, sitting on his bed, eyes unblinking straight ahead. There was nothing in front of him but (surprisingly for this house) blank wall. The sight was so unnerving it convinced Than to flee immediately, his questions unasked.
At dinner the stranger was just as silent until the very end, when he complimented Than’s cooking. The youth was so astonished he almost dropped the plates he carried.
“My other senses are… washed out,” the stranger elaborated. “Only taste still seems real.” He attempted a smile. Than suppressed a shudder for the second time that day.
The next morning saw them in what Than thought of as the ritual room, a round stone chamber in which Kel’Karver Krellain worked his most serious spells. Krellain held in one hand the magnificent spear he had received as a gift from Lord Fernbottom. Than was sure this was a compliment of the highest order for Fernbottom’s weaponsmith, as he had never before known his master to use anyone’s work but his own unless it was required by the task at hand.
“I trust you will not object to my apprentice observing? The boy needs to learn, after all.” Their guest did not object, and Krellain instructed him to remove his armour.
He did so reluctantly, and for the first time since arriving. To Than’s eyes he seemed to diminish with each item discarded until finally the man within was laid bare. An incomplete figure, not old but aged, seemingly held together through desperation. He did not seem to be there at all. His armour, his weapons, the various charms he wore, all of these seemed more real than their owner.
Krellain drew his own dagger from his belt now, holding it up for Than to see. It seemed plain, with a definite curve at the end.
“Boy, this is Slice, my finest work. With this it is possible to draw out part of a customer’s life essence and use it to create objects more personalised, more powerful than would otherwise be possible. Normally unnecessary, but it will take something rare to weather the wrath of the kretai.” He turned his attention back to the stranger, making himself comfortable on the raised slab in the centre of the room, patiently awaiting the knife. Again.
As Krellain unceremoniously plunged the blade into his customer, dragging it up the man’s chest, Than realised that this must have happened many times before. There was probably more of him in his equipment than left in his body.
Slice left behind no mark in the stranger's flesh. Krellain began carving into the spear, leaving a trail of complex silver markings and chanting some invocation under his breath; neither of which he deigned to share with his apprentice. The process took most of an hour to complete. When it was done, a slight reddish glow and definite warmth emanated from the spear. Krellain laid it atop the man, who still lay on the slab.
“How do you feel, old friend? That one took much.”
“I think… I have forgotten why.”
“Then stop. It can be undone.”
“No. It must have been important.” Than knew his master well enough to see that hearing those words pained him, he who had never before shown more than passing concern for a customer’s plight. The man glanced at Than, sitting up. He licked his lips, then frowned. “That was a fine meal you prepared, boy. Very fitting. I will remember it long.”
But that was a lie.
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Date: 2006-12-31 11:22 (UTC)From: