Young Writers Society

THE INFILTRATION OF TRYDIA

“When he took that first step into these foreign lands, he knew that he had already succeeded.”

The moon shone brightly this night. That was unfortunate, he thought; the darkness was his home. But his mission was not one that allowed such trivialities to get into the way of his work. He knew what had to be done.

Marion needed absolute secrecy in order for his mission to succeed. It all depended on the fact that he remained unnoticed. In order for this to be possible, he had studied the lands’ formations for many hours, mapped sentinel patterns as well as made plans for his infiltration into the temple. He would be successful because he had the necessary skills mastered to properly complete this mission. Marion would release his gift to Trydia, and after he was done, he would disappear into the night.

He had found a large wooden shed that currently concealed his presence. It was a cold and dark place, perfect to give him cover. Judging by its contents, the shed was used for the storage of animal feed and assorted tools. Its door was a pale shade of gray, large and built from thick timber. It had taken some effort for Marion not to make any noise while opening it, but he was skilled at completing such tasks. To the right of the door sat a small glass window. Light from the moon spilled though it and illuminated the floor. The rest of the shed was open space save for two small rooms to the door’s left. The back was all bales of hay and bags of seed. The walls and ceiling were littered with tools of all sorts. Some of the smaller tools looked innocent enough, but the others gave even Marion a sense of dread, large pick-shaped blades, deep-gouging spiked barbs, ragged teethed saws, and several chains linking some tools to others. This place looked a storage home for death.

Marion knew the sentinel should have passed his station by this time, yet he had not heard the footsteps of the man. He went to the shed’s window. The only movement came from the wind, swaying the shadows the moonlight cast upon the ground. Where was the sentinel?

Through the trees, he saw a flickering of light. The sentinel must have been delayed by something, and hopefully it hadn’t been his contact. Marion had to believe that his accomplice would not have been discovered, for that would have created many more problems. The light neared his position, but he wasn’t thinking about being discovered. He knew that the sentinel would simply pass by and go on to his next station.

The caped figure came closer to the shed and Marion began to worry that he might not have been so clever in choosing his hiding place. Each step the sentinel took brought him nearer to the shed and not the next outpost. Marion felt a drop of sweat fall from his forehead. If he was caught, all was lost.

The sentinel finally reached the door of the shed. Marion studied the ominous wooden shape that stood before him. If the man tried to enter, he would strike him down where he stood. After a few moments of silence, Marion heard the sentinel start off toward the next station. He would likely begin another rotation around the lands for which he was responsible.

Relieved, Marion turned to grab his pack which he had left in one of the storage rooms. As he turned, his elbow tipped the end of a small spade. Time slowed as he watched it wiggle back and forth, not quite choosing to stay in place or fall to the floor. After what seemed like several seconds, but in actuality was less than one, the spade finally slid from its poorly-crafted hook. The sound came much later to his ears and Marion cursed himself under his breath. He knew that the sentinel would have been close enough to have heard the wretched tool’s racket. Silently, he went home into the shadows and darkness of the shed and disappeared.

The sentinel opened the door of the shed, his steps unsteady and his body language unsure. He carried a torch like many of his order did. As his watch came during the nights, he was given a torch to light his way if he so desired. Some men of the Sentinel Order carried nothing, assuring those that did were blinded by the light. Marion knew that light, as well as darkness, had the effect of blinding one. He was lucky this sentinel was so foolish.

Marion carefully looked upon the man while within the shadows and held his breathing to a low pace and volume. He was not fearless by any means, as no person could be completely devoid of emotion, but his were easily controlled. He wouldn’t allow anything as insignificant as his feelings to get in the way of such a critical task.

The sentinel neared him in the darkness, but Marion was not afraid his position would be compromised. He had his training and his wit and the sentinel was not nearly as skilled as him. He was invisible.

The sentinel wandered to the back side of the shed and began looking through the bails of hay and bags of feed that were located there. Marion was relieved by that fact as his bag was clearly out of sight of the man. He went over the mission plans in his mind and tried to decide if this setback would alter anything. There was much to do, but he also had much time to do it in. He came to the conclusion that a few minutes’ worth was not going to set him back. There was plenty of time to initiate his master plan.

The sentinel gave a shout when a rat leapt from a bag of seed. “Damn rodents.” He continued to search behind more bags of feed and some old barrels.

Marion seemed to be in the clear until a group of his own unwanted invaders entered his territory. It was odd that he had not remembered seeing any rats up to this point, but nevertheless, there were several now navigating the floors of the shed. Marion knew better than to do anything about it. He wasn’t afraid of the small creatures, but in his case now, they were being troublesome to him, crawling and sniffing his location. If left alone, he was confident they would leave, but to his dismay, they wouldn’t.

One of the rats snuck up to him and dug its teeth into his leg. The pain was harsh, but Marion had the will to keep himself quiet. Unfortunately, he wanted revenge on the stupid rodent. He effortlessly stuck out his hand and let his power flow into the rat’s body. In one swift motion, the rat crumpled into a heap of flesh and bones. It died immediately, but had the chance to let out one last shriek of pain. The sentinel whipped up his head from the hay pile and started in Marion’s direction.

That was enormously foolish, Marion thought to himself. He had been too eager to use his powers, and in doing so had brought the attention of the sentinel.

The man was supposed to have already been to his next post by now. How could I have let this happen?

Marion knew what the next move was going to have to be: the sentinel would have to be silenced. This would bring its own problems later, but he knew that if he was caught now, it wouldn’t matter. He would have to end it quickly; the sentinels each carried a small horn that would attract the attention of the others.

With a wave of his hand, he extinguished the flame of the torch and moved in for the kill. The sentinel was caught off guard; it was likely he had not expected someone to have infiltrated his watch. Marion could easily see all the man’s actions in the ensuing darkness, but the sentinel was in no better shape than a blind man. The light of his torch had made his vision poor in the sudden blackness. There was only one saving hope for him, the shed’s solitary window. As soon as he saw the bright moonlight shining through the dusty panes, he darted in that direction.

Marion took quick action to intercept him. He mustered his gift and speared a small white stream at the sentinel. Many called it “sorcerer’s fire”, but Marion had another name for it. It was known to him simply as whitefire. The man had only enough time to turn around and watch the flaming light cut into his throat. He fell to the ground and started quivering in agony. Marion believed he had successfully taken care of his mess when the sentinel began to rise to his feet.

Impossible, Marion thought. His magic had hit him dead on, right in the throat. He should be lifeless. The man scattered furiously in different directions, knocking down tools and bags of feed. If Marion didn’t stop him soon, the man would attract attention from others simply through the noise he was making. He hadn’t screamed or raised his voice once, though. The attack must have done at least enough damage to his throat to prevent him from doing so. That was fortunate, but he should not have been alive for this long.

Marion shot another quick burst of whitefire at the sentinel and this time it raced into his chest. The man spun around in the air and landed on his back onto the bales of hay he was earlier examining. Small pieces of the hay seared into ash as smoke rose from the man’s body. He lay still for a few brief seconds, but again ascended and started running towards the window and his escape route. Marion was confounded, but his discipline did not allow that to translate into hesitation. He unwillingly gave up on trying to kill the man with the arts and decided to complete the task the old-fashioned way. He had a dagger with him that he could use, but it was not meant to kill this sort. He instead grabbed a pitchfork that had been scattered upon the floor while the sentinel had been erratically racing around the shed. With the man running towards him, and having no idea that Marion was even there, all he had to do was stick out the tool.

The sentinel came to a jerking halt. Marion knew that the sentinel still wouldn’t be able to see him. He looked into the man’s squinting eyes and saw puzzlement. As he continued to stare, he saw the man’s eyes relax. That was realization. Then they became larger-- Marion now saw fear. Soon he would see lifelessness. He lowered the pitchfork to the floor, the sentinel along with it. He extracted the primitive weapon and threw it aside. He had work to do.

He dragged the man’s body to the room which contained his bag. Hopefully no one would find it here. He had made two foolish mistakes, the first was hitting the tool, the second killing the rat. He vowed not to make any more while he was here. Marion slung his bag over his shoulder and exited through the massive gray door.

----

Marion made his way across Trydia, not an unpleasant journey

by any means. The twelve provinces that made up these lands differed vastly, yet they all kept the same loyalties. The same could not be said of the lands to the south. Kings and lords and nobles seemed to replace each other every other day. In Trydia it was different. They held their allegiances.

He was now passing though Anh Me, the province of the goddess of healing, Caliona. The neighboring provinces of Anh Te and Anh De made up the Triplets, the group of three provinces that held the deities who were often considered the peace gods. His target was not within these lands, but a city independent from all of the provinces. It was the political and religious center of Trydia named Anziatu, a holy and sacred city. It held the Temple of Abu Sind, a holy place revered by all who laid eyes upon it. And he was going to desecrate it.

But his first stop was not the temple. He would follow a trail to a lowly building in the city. This route would take him straight into the maidens’ quarters and that was where he would obtain his disguise. He had been too careless with the sentinel, now he would ensure that his mission succeeded by taking no more chances. He thought about forsaking the garb and slipping amongst the shadows, but he needed the outfit to gain access to the temple.

There was one problem that occupied his mind as he neared Anziatu, city of the Twelve. The sentinel had not been killed by the whitefire. Marion had never encountered such a thing before. Anyone who had stood in his way had paid the price for it. Yet this lone sentinel bore two shots of his lethal power and still had life enough in him to run. It took a pathetic pitchfork to shed his blood. It was not an efficient way to kill, but it had gotten the job done nonetheless.

The city of the Twelve came upon him unexpectedly. There were neither walls nor barriers, only the dwellings of a few who lived on the outskirts of the city. It was said that the city was self-sustaining and relied on no one province. This included farmlands, a city guard, and even a market for trading. The city itself was not large, but it could have easily contained tens of thousands. And without any walls, the city had no real boundaries.

The moon was bright enough for him to see the temple he would later infiltrate. He spotted the outline of the sandstone bricks the temple had been constructed from. During the day, they would have been the color of sand, but the night had shaded them a serene blue. The temple was by far the most imposing structure within Anziatu, but it only covered a small portion of the city. It didn’t have walls for protection, but was inaccessible save for two enormous sandstone doors. The Doors of Abu Sind were infamous for their size. The large structures were meant to keep anything out that might want to find its way in. As it was the only way into the temple, the doors also had to be large enough to accommodate anything that might be too vast to fit a normal doorway.

He came upon the stone building that held the maidens of the city who worked the many stores and markets within Anziatu. They could stay within this small building if they could afford the rent, which was not cheap. Instead of paying in gold, many of the women labored in the giant washrooms. Some used other methods to pay for their rooms, making this place a bastion for filth looking to relieve themselves of a small burden. There would be no guard posting here Marion knew. The women who were held within these walls were not considered to be worthy enough for that. For the most part, they were either washwomen or whores, neither of which commanded much respect. He suspected that any resistance would likely come from the inside, a stray maiden or two who had a little too much of their noses in others’ affairs.

His contact had masterminded the plan which he was going to see through. She had been the one that had given him accurate maps and paths to the city. She had been invaluable, and yet again Marion wondered why she had done what she had done. Discontent, she had told him. Of what exactly, he did not know.

Marion made excellent use of these plans and now he was going to exploit the fact that the fools didn’t believe the whores and maids were worthy of guards. They offered the most important assistance to him, the ability to enter the temple and wander it with free will.

There had not been adequate time for him to steal or even create a believable uniform that matched that of the Trydian nobles. His outfit, which would originate from Hyrafa, would be a simple cape that covered a vest and shirt and a pair of sturdy pants. He would also wear black leather boots that rose to just above his ankles and upon his chest would be stitched the war axe of the god Herphor. He needed to get one from the maidens’ quarters his contact assured him, this was where they were washed. The nobles stayed at inns or often at the homes of friends and families if a taste of the common folk was not to their liking. The washwomen would travel the inns and homes, looking for clothing to wash. Nobles demanded cleanliness and the maidens’ quarters within this stone building offered it to them with their washrooms. They cleaned and hung their laundry at a small price. It was one well-paid by Trydian nobles.

Marion entered the building with ease and snuck down its lonely halls. Torches lit the main corridors, but there were few people about this night and he could easily hide within the small crevasses that offered a bit of shadow. His contact had also managed to get him a hastily drawn map of this building which he had put to memory. He drew the path in his mind now and recited the turns in his head. Right, left, left, right, straight.

The next left would be the enormous washroom which held the clothes their owners most likely believed more valuable than those who washed them. He entered the open doorway and came to see a variety of wash basins and clotheslines holding various tunics, undershirts, vests, pants, and other colorful garments. He picked through the mess in the dark, grabbing clothes that he believed would fit him, but taking special care in acquiring the Hyrafi noble’s shirt with Herphor‘s war axe. After changing into his new ensemble, he placed his old outfit on the ground and torched it with a stream of whirefire from the tip of his fingers. There was no use letting that lay around.

He left the building as swiftly as he had entered it and made his way to the courtyard of the Temple of Abu Sind. This next phase of his mission required that he suffer through human contact. He couldn’t rely on his ability to stay in the shadows to get inside the temple, he would have to enter by passing the large sandstone doors and that meant putting up with the guards. It was only a minor blemish to his pride that he had to rely on his contact in order to get inside, but he had no illusions about what was needed to be successful.

The guards that kept watch on the outside were large and physically imposing, possibly more of a deterrent for many than weapons even. As he neared, he noticed that they were indeed a part of the Sentinel Order, the militaristic order that made sure Trydia was safe from any danger. But these two did not have the same look as the sentinel he had killed back at the shed. These men had gilded armor plating that reflected the moon’s bright light. The sentinels that he had passed had been light of armor; it would be quite a burden to carry all that weight.

Marion could have easily dispatched the two, but he dared not or face the consequences. He needed these two to help him get into the temple through the large doors, otherwise he would be cursing himself trying to find another way in.

He strode up to the two with as much confidence and self-control as he could gather. “You two, I am here to see the Lady Jayce. Bring me to her at once.” Marion now spoke with the aristocratic accent of a Trydian noble.

“Yes, milord, and you might be?”

“I am Kiel Ganute of Hyrafa,” he tried to sound offended. “I was told that she wished to speak with me at once.”

“Indeed, Lord Ganute. We were told of her intentions on seeing you,” the second guard replied. “We just can’t be too careless or perhaps an imposter may find his way into the temple. I don’t have to tell you how devastating that could be to us.”

Indeed. Marion nodded his head, “I understand. Let us get this over with.”

“Yes, sir. First we must frisk you to see if you have any weapons on you. We cannot permit any outside weapons to enter such hallowed ground.”

The first guard patted Marion down, finding nothing. “It seems that you have found nothing. Did you believe that you would?”

“No, sir,” the guard replied. “Sorry, sir, but it’s standard protocol. Even Lady Jayce must be searched. There are no exceptions. We are especially careful when it comes to the Temple of Abu Sind.”

“Understandable. Good work, then. We are lucky to have guards like you to watch over things of such importance. I shall see to it that you both are recognized by the good people of this temple. Now please let me in so I can continue my business.”

“Yes, sir.”

The first guard walked over to the left side of the doors and placed a small disc-shaped key into a holder. The holder was merely a hole in the building’s wall that sat in a small niche at the side of the door’s entrance. The second guard then went up to the right side and pushed one of the bricks in a small portion of the way. A trigger mechanism locked and the giant sandstone doors made an obnoxious grinding sound as they retracted into the wall.

They opened to reveal a room that was completely dark. He stepped inside, not sure what he was to do next. He turned around to see if the guards could direct him to where might go, but instead of seeing them, he saw only the white outline of the doors. He had only taken a step, yet the entrance was several paces away.

The darkness worried him for it was a foreign feeling. He was so used to using the dark to his advantage that to not see in it was unthinkable. He could neither see nor hear anything now, and began to probe his surroundings with his gift. Marion grew gravely concerned when he sensed nothing at all. His training would never allow him to panic, but this situation had so overwhelmed him that he knew to do nothing else other than step forward.

The darkness disappeared as torches lit from one end of the room to the other. An old woman stood in front of him, her eyes closed and in intense concentration. He was now in a room made of sandstone bricks, much like the outside of the temple. On each side, the torches flickered, sending small shadows dancing across the room. “You have not traveled through before. I wonder, what is your name?”

“I am Lord Kiel Ganute of Hyrafa. I am here to see--” Slowly, her hands neared him and began feeling his face. Her touch was soothing and he felt no need to stop her. Her hands still gently moving across his face, she turned her wrinkled head downward and whispered something softly. He moved forward gently to hear what she was saying. She raised her head and he was caught staring into the discolored tint of her eyes. She was blind.

“No,” she said, “I asked your name. What is your name?”

“Lord Kiel Ganute,” he replied, but his voice was not so strong, not so resolute. “Now I demand that I be taken to Lady Jayce. She was the one who wanted to see me.”

The woman seemed to hesitate slightly as she closed her eyes. She started convulsing and seemed to nod to someone. She grabbed him by the shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Yes, you are not lying about that, she has demanded it. But you deceive well, Lord Ganute. There are things about you that you have told no one. But I know. I know.”