The Darkest Shadow - Part Two

[hewasneverborn]

Thanks to everyone who read the first part. For your reading pleasure (?), here is part two...

The past, old Malifaux…

He couldn’t be kept waiting. No, that wouldn’t do at all. One didn’t survive long if he kept the Master waiting. The vassal moved swiftly through the silent courtyard. The living guardsmen stood to attention, but watched him closely as he passed. These would be the last living entities he would see before his audience, saving the Master. His Master no longer permitted the living to guard him at close proximity. From here on, only the undead guards were permitted to hold vigil. He entered the Master’s personal chambers via the secret door hidden behind a statue in the arboretum. The Master’s paranoia had reached extreme levels and no vassal worth his position dared use a normal entrance on the estate any more. Each door had been rigged with traps, causing the demise of many of the Master’s newer slaves.

As he entered the lofty antechamber he heard the familiar droning sound of the esoteric machines as they whirred and clicked to an unfathomable purpose. Once, when the Master had been more tolerant of others, he had told him of their true purpose, but the vassal had never been one for high minded science. They aided the Master’s plan, and that was enough for him. Rotting sentinels in the gallery above gazed at him with unseeing eyes as he quickly made his way to the next room. The vassal hit the hidden switch behind the largest machine and the second secret door opened. He was free to enter the inner sanctum.

The stuffy confines of the room were a testament to the prevailing mood of his lord. The Master was a powerful individual, wealthy beyond measure, and well versed in science and arcane lore. Yet he was wholly and utterly overtaken with paranoia. He was truly one of the great minds of the age, unfortunately laid low by petty concerns that forced him to hide away like a caged animal. The smell of his undead guardsmen was magnified tenfold in such an environment. The vassal proceeded up to the dais his lord occupied, and waited silently to be noticed. The Master was seated in front of his scrying machine as usual, and it took a few moments for him to register the presence.

“Why have you entered my chambers, servant? Have you come here to kill me?” The Master’s voice was wavering and feverish. He was visibly unkempt and had clearly not slept in days.

“No Master,” the vassal responded automatically “I come with news of your enemies as you requested.”

The Tyrant studied the face of his retainer carefully. His enemies were poised to strike, this he already knew. It was more than possible that one of them had corrupted his servant into their employ. He required more evidence.

“If that is so, I require a sacrifice that confirms your allegiance, slave. Cut off your hand to prove your loyalty.”

The vassal’s heart sank. This request could not be refused, or his life and those of his family would be forfeit. He produced his blade of office from within his robe and sank to his knees. He placed his weaker fist on the ground in front of him, and took a sharp intake of breath. Then he began sawing. When it was done, he could barely prevent himself from screaming.

“Good, my servant. I will hear your report now.” The voice of the Master regained some authority and composure which allayed the growing fears of his servant.

“Your rival has completed a device at Kythera my lord. Your spies report it will open the gateway as was predicted.”

“Damn him!” Spat the Tyrant. “His plans have been accelerated! Kill my spies for not reporting this already. Such an undertaking should have taken him more time. My plans are yet incomplete!”

The vassal bowed before his lord, partially to obey his request and partially through loss of blood. “I will see to it my Lord. Have you any other instructions?”

The Tyrant sat thoughtfully for a moment. “Yes I do vassal. I am not yet convinced of your loyalty. I require more sacrifice. You will kill yourself now, and thus I will know your final allegiance.”

The vassal’s head slumped as his worst fears were confirmed. He looked up one final time at the uncaring eyes of his master, and then obeyed the request without further delay.

Present Day, Northern Mountains…

At the sight of the giant soulstone before him, Captain Bridger dropped to his knees, speechless in shock. As he gazed upon the stone, the world around him began to recede into insignificance. Such a prize would make him a king back on Earth! He gingerly reached out to touch the milky-white surface, so flawless and beautiful…He dimly registered his hand was batted away from the stone. Denton Jenks howled in anger and launched himself at the Captain.

“Don’t you touch him!” Jenks bellowed in a mixture of rage and anguish, “he speaks only to me!”

The Captain barely dodged out of the way as the frenzied Jenks hurled toward him; though a trailing boot caught him on the shoulder, knocking him to the floor. The Captain was well trained and within the blink of an eye he was on his feet and drawing his peace bringer. At the sound of the trigger being cocked, Jenks sprang up and flew into the darkness with the swiftness of a gazelle. Captain Bridger took aim and fired, but the shot rang out against a stone wall in the darkness. He took aim for another shot but he saw that Jenks had disappeared.

Bridger turned to the guards and roared “I want that lunatic apprehended at once! Ten stones to the man who brings him to me, dead or alive.” A few on the men nodded and drew their pistols before heading in the last known direction of the fugitive. As they left, the Captain ordered the remainder of the guards set up work crews and assign prisoners to each detail. No further delay in the mining schedule would be permitted by him. Even the guards knew they were expendable when the matter was a late shipment of soulstone. The Captain quickly had the large soulstone cordoned off from the prisoners. He would not permit anyone to come close to the stone; he didn’t want anyone harming the sale value of the item. Also, not that he would have admitted it to anyone; it held a certain charm for him beyond mere finance. He began to understand why Jenks would have risked his life fighting over it. Jenks’ attachment to the stone was the real reason Bridger wanted him dead – he had dared lay hands on it.

The Convict had watched the recent events unfold with some interest. Even with his mind focussed completely on escape, the soulstones were clouding his thoughts with dreams of wealth. His crimes had never been about greed, but he certainly felt the pull when he looked at the huge stone in the ground before him. He had been amused to see Jenks floor the Captain, but had been more surprised at the manner of his escape. What the others could not see (and yet the Convict still didn’t understand why he could) was the ‘shadows’ helping Jenks to avoid Bridger’s shot. The blackness had extended itself outwards and just plucked him of out the way. The others had no idea what was going on, but whatever these black shapes were, they infested this mine and for some reason had sided with a lunatic. This did not bode well. The Convict determined to offer himself up for the hardest jobs if it meant being out of this place.

Within a few days, the search for Denton Jenks had been exhausted of all the manpower Captain Bridger could afford to use on it. The crazy bastard was presumed dead, although the supplies were watched carefully in case he tried to sustain himself when they were sleeping. The mining operation was now in full swing, the torchlight system and track needed to haul up the soulstones were in place and the first stones had been brought up to the surface. The large stone was the first to be brought to the surface, and it now remained under armed guard at all times. Bridger had also assigned guards to watch the other guards; he didn’t want one of the men to abscond in the night with a king’s ransom.

The prisoners had taken to the work with little trouble. There were some malcontents, certainly, but a few executions had brought the others into line. Captain Bridger had also tempered the rod with the gift of extra rations. As the prisoners were terribly malnourished, the extra food was more important than the need to rebel. The prisoners thought they would continue to receive extra rations if they performed well. What they did not know is that supplies were already low, and the accident at the river had taken more of the food than they realised. Bridger had secretly dispatched a rider to requisition more supplies, but it would be many days before the wagons arrived. While the mood was somewhat balanced, he chose to not be too conservative with his rationing policy, but he knew the camp would be almost impossible to manage once the situation was known.

The Convict had managed to wrangle his way into the hauling detail. It was back breaking labour, but it meant a lot of time away from the mining area which was precisely what he wanted. The convicts and guards that spent the most time down there were starting to act strangely. Others dismissed it as cabin fever, what with being cooped up in that space underground, but the Convict knew the truth. He may have been as far away as he could manage, but he still heard the voices that emanated from the mine. Faint voices that he did not recognise as coming from any member of the party he knew. Voices that carried up through rock as softly and sweetly as if whispered by a loved one in your ear. Voices that people only heard in their minds.

The voices from the mine began on the second day, so feint at first, but they were building in intensity. At first it had been impossible to understand, spoken in a garbled language he was unfamiliar with. But the more he listened the more they started to make sense. Whatever was down there in the shadows was exhorting the men to stand up for themselves, to watch out for the others around them. The words were sweet as honey yet full of venom for men, and it was clear to the Convict that its aim was to drive the men mad, though to what end he did not know.

Matters got worse for the Convict when the large stone was brought up to the camp. Unlike the other men, he had developed an aversion to being near it. He was sure it was evil – it was the subject of every conversation, every desire in the camp. He shared his opinions with no one; in fact, he spoke with no one other than to answer questions the guards asked of him, and to defend his share any time it was questioned by another prisoner. If people knew he could see and hear things, they would make him out to be another Jenks, and he would likely be killed before he had time to open his mouth.

The proximity of the stone made the voices clearer to the Convict, and he often had to stop himself from replying to them. With the added clarity came a general feeling of malice and mistrust that was beginning to impact on everyone at the camp. The Captain had been able to quiet the weaker willed ones down with more food, but the voice kept working at them, telling them they needed to look out for themselves only. Everyone else wasn’t worth a thought.

The Convict saw less of the Captain each day. Bridger had taken to staying in his tent, where he had located the large stone for ‘safekeeping’. The guards clearly resented this slight on their professionalism and so had taken to mocking him in front of the prisoners when he was absent. They reported all kinds of foolish stories about how he was dressing the thing up as his wife and declaring his love to it. The prisoners laughed cruelly when they heard this, they had no love for any Guildsman, especially if he had the power of life and death over them. Although it was not just that which coloured their thoughts. The ownership of the soulstone, and all the others, was foremost in the minds of each man there, except the Convict.

At the end of the first week, the camp was close to boiling point. Some of the guards chose not to take up their posts at times during the day, and if it wasn’t for the increased brutality of those that did, the prisoners would have taken over already. The Captain had not been seen in some time, and none one cared to check on his wellbeing. A number of men on the mining detail had died in various accidents, caused by a lack of care shown by the guards who were supervising their work, or by unexplained ‘accidents’. The Convict had been a witness to one of these accidents. Young Jeb Saunders had been throttled to death out of sight of the main crew by one of the guards. It was at this point the Convict knew he had to disappear.

He waited for the next ration to be delivered to him and although it was small, he didn’t eat any of it. Instead, he wrapped it in a cloth to be eaten later. He continued working normally, guiding the cart down the mine to the cavern and waiting for a load of stones to be delivered. While the cart was being loaded he took his chance.

“What is Collins up to over there? Did you see him pocket that stone?” The convict pointed over at Riley Collins, a thuggish rogue who had been harassing him for food.

The guard squinted off into the gloom, uncertain of what he was seeing. “How in the hell can you see that clearly down here, you maggot?” The Guard continued squinting, so his interest had certainly been piqued.

“That bastard has collected quite a haul already, sir. I’ll get my throat cut for telling you this tonight no doubt, but he’s working with some of the others to steal stones for themselves. They wouldn’t cut me in, so screw them.” The Convict played up his annoyance at being kept out of the fictitious deal. No guard would believe he was telling on another prisoner for good reasons. He had to play the role they expected.

“I’ll kill that rat bastard! You had better give me the names of his accomplices or you’ll hang too!” The Guard grabbed the Convict buy his grubby shirt, shaking him as though to draw out the names like apples from a tree. The Convict reeled off a list of other prisoners that had tried to take food from him. “Payback time” he thought.

The guard told him to wait where he was, and then dashed over to the scene of the supposed crime. Without wasting a moment, the Convict turned on his heel to run down one of the deeper tunnels. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he grabbed a small soulstone as he left. He didn’t suppose it would make his punishment any worse than it was going to be, and if felt so appealing at the time. With that, he ran into the gloom, leaving the men to what he knew would be an unpleasant fate.

The past, old Malifaux…

“HE knows my name!” The Tyrant lifted a large device from his desk and launched it across the room. It impacted against a wall sending fragments showering over his guest. The Tyrant slumped back into a chair, sobbing quietly.

“He… he knows my name.”

The visitor reined in his desire to laugh. It was astounding that he stood before one of the most powerful individuals in Malifaux, yet this individual was a wreck mentally and physically. He wondered if he had picked the wrong patron for his ambitions.

“My lord, I will see to it that he ‘forgets’ any information he has on you. And as usual, I will be thorough in case the information has been imparted on his household.”

The Tyrant stopped sobbing, and managed a weak smile. He pushed himself up out of his chair and approached his chosen assassin. He grabbed him by the shoulders weakly and leaned in close to whisper in his ear, “None can survive. If they know who I am, they will know where they must come to stop me.” The assassin nodded and made a small bow before leaving.

The Tyrant regained a little of his composure and returned to his desk. He pointed at the mess on the floor and an undead servitor appeared from a hidden alcove and began to clean the mess. Although these creatures had no higher mental faculties, they now represented the only things the Tyrant could confide in. “He does not understand the situation, number three. He is clever but not wise, and does not see all as clearly as he believes. I find him useful for now, but… we shall see.” The servant turned around with some basic recollection that its Master was addressing it. The Tyrant smiled warmly back at its ruined face. “Ah number three, you are my favourite. Clean up now, clean well and then return to your post.” The zombie moaned loudly and resumed its task. The Tyrant returned to studying the schematics for the device he was planning to build. A machine that would end the world.

The assassin dropped to the floor from a support beam. Despite his size, he made no sound as he hit the floor. He was a master of his trade, at the peak of his abilities. Unlike others, his profession allowed no recommendations of quality. The fact that no one would ever know his part was all the recommendation he and his patron needed. The assassin’s skills made him the last living retainer of the Tyrant. He was often concerned how much longer that state would be maintained. The mind of the Master was great indeed, but fickle. As much as he would be rewarded for continued success, he dreaded what came with failure. He found the Master’s zombies distasteful and was reluctant to join their ranks. As long as he continued to be of use he knew he would continue living.

His target was a wealthy merchant, rich enough to come by the knowledge that was going to cause his death. The Master would not permit anyone to learn his true identity, nor live should they already know it. The assassin had killed everyone from the Tyrant’s life, anyone close to him, or that had even met once in the dimly remembered past. His own ignorance about who the Tyrant was meant that he could be fairly certain as long as he never learned it, he would be one of the last to die, and hopefully, the first to be reborn.

The merchant was cautious, although everyone had to be in such times. The secret war the tyrants had begun was fracturing society and now there were no safe enclaves. Whether you fell to the blade of a Tyrant, the excesses of a pleasure cult, or to the noose of the rebellion was the only choice left to many. The merchant had surrounded himself with hired protection, but they were poorly trained and failed to spot the assassin entering the compound. Using his peerless skills, he had already dispatched three of them and hidden the corpses. Now his route to the target was open. Still the night was young and there was enjoyment to be had in the chase – there was no need to rush. Soon he would have another soul to add to his collection. A soul bound to him in service by the black magic of his master.

When he was sure no guards were around, he crossed the hallway and ascended to the landing containing his target’s personal chambers. He knocked four times, in the manner he had observed the servants doing on one of his earlier scouting visits. The door unlocked and opened slowly, and the fat face of the merchant peeked out. Surprise and fear registered on his face, and he tried to close the door, but the assassin was too fast. He kicked the door back into the target; the door connecting with his skull and knocking him unconscious. When the merchant awoke, the assassin was sitting on his chest, with a hand over his mouth.

“If you call out, I will hurt you very badly.” The assassin displayed his cruel looking blade, the sight of which drew a look of unparalleled terror from the merchant. “Good” said the assassin. “I can tell you will be sensible, so I will allow you the luxury of speech.” He released his hand from the merchant’s mouth.

“P-please, I can pay a great deal” the merchant spluttered. “I don’t need to know anything, just take the payment; it’s in a chest under my bed, and then leave. I won’t know who you are and you have no fear of reprisals…” A blade in his gut stopped the bargaining.

“No, my fat friend, you life is now forfeit. This cannot be averted. What I offer you instead is a continued existence, bound to me in service. Surely this is better than oblivion?” The assassin removed his hood. He smiled predatorily at the wounded man. “All I ask in return is that you write down what you know about the scientist in the old quarter and then seal it.” The merchant was crying openly now, for he understood his life was almost over. For all his possessions in the world, nothing now came close the value of a few more moments of life. The assassin wrenched him off the floor with a little difficulty, and as he rose, stabbed him again. The merchant cried out again from the pain. “You will do as I asked now,” the assassin spat “you have little time left for me to complete the ritual. Otherwise your soul will float in the ether as the plaything of a Tyrant for all eternity.”

The door thudded with the impact of heavy hands. From outside the heavy oaken door a voice called out “Sir, are you well?” The assassin walked over and opened the door, surprising the guards with his boldness. As they entered the room with their swords drawn he rushed at them head on. They were strong, but not fast, so he easily avoided their clumsy blows. Each strike they attempted was a miss, and as they had overextended, they received a wound from his wicked blade. A few such blows and both of the men lay dead at his feet. He turned to the merchant, who looked glumly at his hired guards. “Do as I command!”

The merchant finished writing on the parchment, and then sealed the paper with a wax seal. With leaden movements he rose and turned to face his tormentor. “I am ready for death now, assassin. May whoever sent me this accursed knowledge burn in eternal torment!”

The assassin smiled cruelly. “Oh no, my fat servant. I was not lying about your fate. I’m really going to give you eternal life! Well, to an extent …” With a few inaudible words of power, the incantation was cast; and with one powerful thrust of his dagger he found the heart of his victim. Cold black flame exploded around the hilt of the weapon and the merchant exploded in a shower of black dust. A curious dark vapour lingered in the place where the merchant has stood a moment before. The assassin smiled in triumph and took a deep breath, drawing in the noxious vapour as though it were the most delicate of wines. “Welcome to my service, little one.”

The assassin cleaned his blade on the bed and put the sealed parchment under his robe. The binding had been successful; even now he could hear the cries of his victim in the back of his mind. He exited the merchant’s compound, and made his way through the empty thoroughfares of the City, sticking to the shadows where he could. The dim oil lamps situated at regular intervals occasionally landed a beam on his person and at such times a remarkable transformation seemed to occur. Where one man had passed, it seemed as though many were there, one in the foreground and others clamouring in his shadow.

When he arrived at his intended location, an opulent looking townhouse bearing the crest of a noble family, he rapped loudly on the courtyard gates. A grill opened in the gate and a harsh voice enquired from within: “What business do you have, knocking at this time of night?”

The assassin produced the parchment from under his robe and proffered it through the grill. “I offer this to your master. I’m sure he will find it very enlightening…” With that he turned and left, fading away from the light of the building, becoming one with his shadow.

To be continued…

[adamr]

Awesome... can't wait to see where this goes...

[Junchi]

You too lazy to finish?