I
New Plans
The gate was of a dusty black. It was made of many planks of wood, with a circle about the size of a fist cut into it at eye level. It had a painted on, white skull, almost the size of the door itself. It looked as if it had been put there to ward off curios travelers. The larger of the two knocked on the gate with an enormous fist that had carried many a stolen good. After a moment of silence, an old, withered man of about fifty summers looked out through the hole in the gate. A piece of his dirty, white hair fell into his face as his eyes widened. He had obviously seen the brown, cloth sack with draw string ties that the smaller of the two (but still of average height) was carrying. The man’s dirt-stained, wrinkled face disappeared from behind the hole, and frankly, the two were relieved to see it gone. It pained them to think that someday, they might look as he did.
The large gate was slid upward, into the wall above it, as the gate-keeper cranked the wheel. The two watched the empty, black eyes of the skull disappear, inch by inch. When the gate was open enough, Vierce and Garin entered. But not before catching a glimpse of the nauseating height of the tower. Its sleek shape cut through the light of mid-day, and into the clouds high above them. They passed the staring man, as he lowered the gate again.
The two were glad to be inside, for it was late summer and as hot as the smaller of the two was cold. Vierce looked around at the dimly-lit hall they were walking through. He and Garin made a right, and then turned a left before coming upon a spiral staircase. The halls were meant to be confusing, so that if there ever was a time that an army of the queen’s entered the tower, it would not be terribly difficult to ambush them. Vierce started up the steps, cradling the cloth sack. He was of seventeen summers and of average height. His dark blonde hair was reasonably short, the sides covering his ears, and the bangs stopping a couple of inches above his eyebrows. His eyes were of a creamy-blue color, almost the color you would get when mixing blueberry juice with milk. He was wearing an aged and dusted blue cotton shirt and brown pants of wool. The ends of his pants fell over a pair of very fine black leather boots. Over his attire, he wore a black cape that swung to and fro as he walked.
But the most eye-catching thing about Vierce was the jewels incrusted into his sword, that hung at his waist. There were five jewels in the hilt of his sword, four smaller, red ones (rubies) above the grip and close to the blade, and a larger, blue one (a sapphire) at the end of the hilt. The gray metal hilt with a brown leather grip jutted out of the brown leather scabbard. The jewels were eye-catching, yes, until he unsheathed it and you got a glimpse at the pure silver blade. Pure Silver. He had encountered this incredible sword on a “charity mission” two years ago. Vierce often recalled that day:
It was mid summer of last year. He and Garin had not been working for their current “employer,” yet. They had heard legend of an incredibly powerful weapon in the province just north of here, Temaruin. They had ventured there, picking up more and more rumors as they got closer to the weapon’s resting spot. Vierce had heard from many people that the legendary weapon lay in an underground cave, somewhere in the snow lands of Temaruin. It was also said that it could be found by no man, except the ones who had already been there. It took quite a while, but they found the cave. In the cave was a chest. In the chest was the blade. The blade known as Cassolt. Under the chest, inscribed on the alter, was a message. No, a warning. Any who disturb the Blade of Evil’s Banishment, also known as Cassolt, will regret the day they did so. So they took the “Blade of Evil’s Banishment,” and used it for evil. Vierce did not know what exactly this blade was, but then again, he didn’t much care. He had a feeling, actually, it was more dread, that one day he would figure out why Cassolt was made.
Somewhere, deep in his mind, Vierce knew that this wasn’t just a plain old blade. Many a time in battle, Vierce could feel a presence there with him. It was not human, this he knew. The presence felt cold, somehow. Almost, hungry. The blade needed to feed. And the food it ate, why the blood and flesh of any humans that dared stand against its tremendous power, of course. Sometimes, in battle, it was almost as if the blade itself was taking control of Vierce. Slaughtering life after countless life, only to feed on their essence. He knew what the presence was: the blade was alive.
At first glance, Cassolt looked too heavy to handle. But, amazingly, it was as light as a stick, and still offered tremendous damage. Many who had seen this blade (most of them were dead now), had heard of it only in legend. Anyone could recognize this sword by the insignia carved into the base of the silver blade.
They continued up the spiral stairs for quite some time (twenty minutes, perhaps). After all, it was an enormous tower, and they were going to the top floor. When they stepped the final step, they took a left and walked down another hall. Garin let out a sigh, wishing that they would invent some new way to climb a tower.
Garin was large for a boy of seventeen summers (actually, he was large for anyone). He was about seven feet tall. He had on a sleeve-less, red cotton shirt that exposed his enormous muscles. He wore brown wool pants, much like Vierce’s, only a great deal bigger. He wore brown boots that were metal plated on the bottom. He had dark reddish-orange hair that fell to a few inches below his ears. It covered his thick eyebrows, and stopped just before his brown, earthen-colored eyes. Across his back was a large steel mallet that no normal man could wield. But then again, Garin was no normal man.
Yet, the most important, and destructive, skill of the two, was their Elemental powers. They had taken their powers to a level no normal Elemental could ever dream of achieving.
Vierce, an Ice Elemental, could create beautiful stalactites of cold, crystallized ice that could hang from the ceilings even in the hottest of days, or just as easily, could send them down to pierce his screaming opponent in a shower of sharp, freezing shards.
Garin was an Elemental of Earth. He could control the plants, roots, and vines of the earth, and the ground itself. He could escape when the going got tough by making a bridge of dirt to cross a canyon in an instant, or turn and fight using constricting plants and crushing earth.
After a moment, they came to a large wooden door, and a guard to the side of it. Normally, like this one, the guards of the tower didn’t carry spears. Vierce stopped a foot from the door and looked at Garin. “Try… and watch your mouth this time,” he said. Garin gave Vierce his “I don’t really give a care” look, and opened the door.
Lord Jicenmal was sitting at the large oak table in the center of the room, tearing the skin off of a chicken leg with his rotting, yellow teeth. At the sound of the door rotating on its hinges, he looked up. His eyes went to the sack in Vierce’s right arm. He swallowed, set down the chicken leg, and grinned. He stood up, and then changed his mind and sat back down. They were his employees after all. “Here,” Jicenmal beckoned. Vierce and Garin walked over to the tall, skinny man. He had an unusually slender face, topped off with an unusually long and skinny nose. He was wearing a blue cloak that fell to his knees, and black silk pants. He currently was barefooted. Jicenmal’s black hair, as it often was, was unkempt and greasy, and a little shorter than Vierce’s. He looked of about thirty-five summers, but neither of the two were sure.
Garin followed Vierce to Jicenmal, while looking around the room. The floor was gray stone, as were the walls and ceiling. There was the remains of a fire in the fireplace off to the left, and some of the ash had been skew across the floor in front of the mantle. There wasn’t much else in the room, except a large window that looked south towards the town. On the horizon, above all of the trees that made up the Finite Forest, stood the castle of Queen Apostria, ruler of Apostria and descendant of Jerome Apostria, who was the founder of this province.
But there was one other thing in this room. There was the door. Vierce and Garin often talked of this door, savoring the word on their lips. This was the very door that led to the heaping mounds of gold and jewels that Vierce and Garin had only collected maybe an eighth of. They had been working for Jicenmal for over six months, and were already nationally infamous throughout Apostria. From the south-western city of Parvia (the former holder of the largest diamond in Apostria), to the castle of Apostria itself.
“Hurry, I haven’t got all day,” Jicenmal urged. “Give it here.” Vierce carefully set the sack on the table, even though he had tossed it around earlier. Jicenmal hastily pulled apart the draw string ties, and parted the bag at the opening. His eyes widened as he reached both hands in. He held up the crown that Vierce had gratefully plucked off of Queen Apostria herself, as he held her at sword point. The fat queen had squealed like a pig when Vierce took it, and then he had sarcastically said, “Thank you, Milady.” Vierce had then turned, and Garin and he had sliced and smashed their way back out of the castle. The queen had sent almost fifty men on a recovery mission. They were all dead and on the ground before ever leaving the castle courtyard (except for the ones hanging, and bleeding, on the cold, rigid, stalagmites).
The crown was polished gold, and had a grand total of twenty-seven jewels incrusted into it. Jicenmal tried it on. Embarrassed, when he saw Vierce and Garin looking at him, he quickly tore it off and stuffed it back into the bag. Later, he would store it in the treasure room, but not while those two were here. They had never seen the treasure room, and he didn’t think that should change in the least bit, just incase one of them decided he wanted to become rich fast. Although he knew he would win in a flat out fight, he had death on his side, after all. He went back to eating, and when he looked up, Vierce and Garin were staring at him.
“Oh, yes…,” Jicenmal said as bits of chicken flew all over. He yelled to the guard outside the door, who brought in two small, brown bags, that jingled as he walked over to them. The guard held out the bags to Vierce and Garin, who both took one. “I added a bonus,” Jicenmal said, obviously thinking this was a great act of patronage. “You know, for not leading the queen to believe that you two work for me.”
“Thankyee, Milord.”
Suddenly, a guard rushed in with a bowl of steaming soup. He was almost to Jicenmal, when he “tripped” over Garin’s outstretched foot, and spilled the boiling liquid all over his master. “You idiot!” Jicenmal screamed. He jumped up from the table and raised both hands. Being an Elemental of Death, he had a unique gift. Three rotten, and half decayed hands shot up out of the floor, spewing stone (and decayed skin) all over. The hands grabbed the guard, and began pulling him into the floor. The screaming guard went down with ease, as the floor crumbled around him. He looked first at Vierce, and then at Garin. No help there. Then he looked towards Jicenmal, who was wiping steaming soup off of his cloak. When he was down in the floor to his shoulders, he clawed at the ground. It made a scraping sound that neither of the two cared much for.
“Now, now,” Jicenmal said in a hastened tone that didn’t hide his anger at all. “I won’t have you scratching up my floors.” The guard drew in a final, exasperated breath, and plunged into the between-floor darkness. Vierce and Garin had seen this scene so many times before, and Garin had helped repair the floor so many times before. Seconds later, Garin raised his own hand and the hole in the floor where the guard had disappeared closed up.
Vierce and Garin turned to leave, and Garin muttered under his breath, “Too bad for that guy that Jicenmal built this place with dead bodies in between each floor.” With that, the two walked out of the room, laughing.
<three hours later>
Vierce and Garin sat down, across from each other. Jicenmal sat beside them at the end of the table. It was the room they had been in earlier (even as he sat down to eat, Garin caught a glimpse of the door. If he and Vierce had their way, that room, along with the tower, would be theirs…. But not just yet). Jicenmal was positioned so that he was facing the huge window. He was looking south, possibly imagining the castle in flames, as he often did. He almost jumped when the two sat down.
“May I ask why you have called us to dine with you, Milord?” Vierce asked. He had brought his sword, as Garin his mallet. If things went according to plan, Jicenmal would be dead on the floor by the end of dinner. He hoped that Jicenmal wouldn’t think much of them bringing their weapons to dinner. It all relied on Jicenmal’s distinct unawareness. He had recently been acting very… occupied.
The food came a few seconds later postponing the question. Three guards brought in three different plates, one for each person. Garin wondered how they had managed all the way from the kitchen, to the top floor of the tower. The guards placed the plates on the table, in front of the diners, in between the extravagant silverware knives and forks, which were no doubt stolen. They each were served a lobster (an extremely rare creature in these parts), on lettuce and tomatoes. They were also each served a glass of wine. Vierce and Garin knew something must be up. It wasn’t everyday that one even saw a lobster, let alone ate one.
In his extremely rude manner, Jicenmal brought a butcher knife up from under the table. Where the heck did that come from? Vierce thought and looked at Garin. Something must be up; Jicenmal didn’t usually carry a butcher knife in his pocket. Unless…. No. He couldn’t know their plot of his downfall…. Could he? He raised the blade, and it came down through the neck of the red creature that sat in front of him. The room filled with a short and sharp crunch, that echoed off of the walls. Vierce and Garin did not so much as wince. Jicenmal picked up the knife and ordered a guard to him. The guard by the door rushed over, spear bouncing off of his shins. (Spear in hand…). Jicenmal took the blood and gut-stained knife and wiped it on the guard’s shirt, one side at a time, while staring at Vierce, then at Garin. Any reaction he was looking for, wasn’t there. The knife gleamed as it was slid across the red cotton that was the guard’s uniform. It had a large, black handle that was thick at the base, skinny in the middle, an then spread out again near the blade. The blade was maybe eight inches long, a third the length of Cassolt, which hid under the table, growing impatient.
“Dismissed,” Jicenmal snarled at the guard, who went back to his post at the door. The sad thing was, this was probably the most lobster the guard would ever even touch in his life.
The three of them began to eat, Jicenmal disgustingly, Garin hastily, but not without manners, and Vierce, slowly and delicately. Jicenmal sipped from his wine, that he had had “imported,” straight from the Temaruin grape gardens. “The reason,” Jicenmal began, “that I called you to dine with me tonight, is that I have a brilliant plan!” He laughed a genuine laugh, taking another sip of wine. This may have been the first genuine laugh Vierce had heard from this ungrateful, yet cunning, emperor of, well… nothing. Now that Vierce thought of it, Lord Jicenmal had control over nothing more than a tower, a bunch of guards, and, as much as he hated the thought, him and his partner.
“You,” he pointed first at Garin, then at Vierce, with a bony, trembling finger, “will kidnap the princess of Apostria.” Jicenmal sat back in his hard oak chair and looked at the two. They just sat like that, for almost half a minute.
When Vierce thought that he could take no more silence, he broke it with a question. The one that Garin had been wondering also. “Why?”
Jicenmal came closer to the table. “You really want to know? Then come closer.” Vierce and Garin leaned closer. Garin was uncomfortable being this close to the skinny, bony, who-knows-what-else man that was their lord. “One word,” Jicenmal eyed the two of them viciously. “Ransom.” He once again sat back, eyeing them with complete content on his plan.
“Milord,” Garin began, “wouldn’t you rather have us, y’know, steal a sacred jewel, or something like that?”
Jicenmal looked at him like he was crazy. If this works, Jicenmal thought, which it will, I will have no need of sacred jewels. Kidnapping the princess is only the beginning. “The queen will pay a hansom reward, mind you, very hansom indeed,”
He lied.
Garin would have persisted, but first he looked at Vierce. He could see that Vierce had a plan of his own. Instead, Garin said: “Yes, Milord.”
After dinner, when they were in Vierce’s room, away from eager ears, Vierce explained. As he did so, the light from the dimly lit room (it seemed that all the rooms in Jicenmal’s god-dang tower were dimly lit) reflected off of his excited face. There was a bed in the back-right of the room, a large armoire to the left of that, a window in the left wall, and a table in the center of the room. Garin’s room looked much the same, save a little messier.
“Listen,” Vierce told Garin in a hushed tone. “This could work to our advantage….”
That night, Vierce had a terrible dream. First, he was in a forest. Although it was a dream, he could smell the sweet fragrance of pine oil. He was standing on a bed of pine needles, which were soft, and sticky with sap. Although he had no idea why, his arm hurt him incredibly. He looked west, and saw figures moving in the trees. Before he had time to react, he was suddenly looking out over a canyon the size of, well, a canyon. It looked very familiar, as did the forest. He was standing at the edge, and wavered a little, as he looked over the drop. It dropped down to over a mile. Then, he was in a very dark room, shadows everywhere. He looked around, nobody was there but himself, and Garin, on his right. He looked left, then back right. Garin was gone. Suddenly, something grabbed his foot and he looked down. A creature of some sort was at his feet, on its stomach. Wait, he thought. It almost looked… human? It was only half dressed, and its clothes that were on were tethered, and bloodstained. Terror struck him as he realized, zombies. Somebody, somewhere (he doubted that the person was even in this room), began to shriek laughter. The creature looked up at its next victim. It had one eye, the other a blank socket of emptiness. Its right cheek had been burned off, decomposed, or something, and the inside of its mouth was visible. Its tongue swished from side to side, over its rotten teeth. More and more zombies began to pile on top of him, pulling him to the ground. He looked to his sword, but it was too late. Everything went dark as the moldy, rotten bodies suffocated him to the ground.
Vierce Kijor sat bolt upright in his bed, sweating like mad. He looked towards the window, and saw that it was already light out. He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to remember his dream. He could not. He got up, dressed, and walked to Garin’s room. When he knocked on the door, Garin answered almost immediately. They ate a small breakfast, and set out towards the castle.
They traveled through the Finite Forest, off of the main path, for reasons very clear, and detoured around the town that stood between them and the castle.
In an hour, they were standing about a quarter mile away from the castle, in the grass clearing that lead to it. The clearing was about two-hundred feet wide, with tall trees on both sides, and a path running down the middle. The two loved robbing the castle, not only because robbery and thievery they enjoyed, but because the castle was so easy to rob.
Already the guards had seen them, and about two hundred men were running towards them, spears and swords raised. “Today,” Vierce said, looking ahead at the wall of oncoming men, “we let them know who we work for.”
Vierce unsheathed his sword, the light bouncing of the silver blade of Cassolt. Garin unlaced the mallet from the straps on his back, and stood ready. The two thieves (for that is what they were, thieves) stood waiting for the screaming army.
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