2: The Towers (sequel to Thief of Life)

“Erhett” – memory churned brutally at the name echoing through my mind. After all these years, the name felt strange on my tongue. Its sting had not yet faded, the memory held, refusing to vanish with the years. Oh yes, of course other things vanished. My life had vanished, my youth had vanished leaving strands of silver streaking through my hair in its midst, but not my pain, never my pain. “Erhett,” I tested the name once more as I stared down at the faded scroll before me, my trembling fingers brushing across the old paper cautiously.

“So, how long has it been?” a soft voice echoed from across the table, sensitively prodding, careful not to push too hard.

I looked up to see my friend Laron sitting across from me, his chin resting in his hands, elbows propped up lazily on the hard, wooden table. His young face appeared exhausted and uncaring against the gentle flicker of the candlelight, but his eyes shone with curiosity and pity. “Many years,” I whispered quietly, barely loud enough for Laron to hear, “Many, many years,” I repeated a little louder this time.

Laron grinned, his teeth shining as he lifted his elbows off the table and crossed his arms, leaning back in the booth. “What are you going to do?” he asked casually.

I lifted my head, raising one eyebrow, “What do you mean what am I going to do?” I asked, disturbed by his question.

“Well, now that you know he’s come out of hiding, are you going to find him? You know, like in all of those fairy tales parents tell their children!” Laron’s grin dwindled to a faint smile.

I shook my head, “The world isn’t like all those stories, Laron. He probably doesn’t remember me and if he does, he probably will never want to speak with me again. I betrayed him terribly, cruelly. I can’t imagine the guilt of seeing him again.”

That is how it all started, with Laron’s stubborn curiosity and my gnawing guilt. Laron wasn’t fooled by my disguise, my rejecting of my name and donning of a new one; he was much too intelligent, even if not openly, for that. I didn’t expect him to actually carry out his ideas later expressed to me. He had given me warnings, or more of hints at his intentions, but had never explained or revealed his plan to me.

I had been caught in a whirlwind of emotions, both fear and delight when I had heard of Erhett’s resurfacing. After all the years of not hearing one word of my old friend, all his years in hiding, I had begun to believe the common idea that he was dead, but when news had come that he yet lived, I was set apart once more from the city with my newfound and obviously uncommon knowledge. I still didn’t know why he had gone into hiding in the first place, but had suspected it had something to do with me.

The morning that Laron had announced the inn would close early was the morning I had begun to harbor suspicions against him. His strange, anxious behavior the night before and his constant leaving of the inn to my keeping while he journeyed had left me confused and curious as to why he traveled so often. No one held the name ‘Laron Kendel’ in much if any esteem in the nearby towns so I could not understand why anyone would wish to meet with him. The inn was always fully stocked, so there was no reason for him to travel to the market either. I had approached him with my veiled suspicions of course, but he had revealed nothing. It was not until that night that I found the truth.

When the inn had cleared and only the faint stench of spilled brandy and its smelly consumers betrayed that noise had once filled the abandoned place, Laron had begun making continuous and brief journeys outdoors to walk the perimeter of the inn and come back, a worried frown on his face. He would not speak to me; he would not even speak to himself as he often did. He just stood by the frost-coated window and stared into the darkness. He continued this queer routine for hours until the old wooden clock had stated with chimes and bells that it was now midnight.

About twenty minutes later, the door opened, a fury of snow swirling into the inn and a man tightly wrapped in a cloak stepped in, his face hidden by the weather-stained hood. I had nearly jumped out of my seat in surprise when the man had entered, but Laron seemed not to be startled in the least. In fact, he wore an expectant grin.

“Laron!” I had said, my voice trembling with surprise and curiosity.

He had simply turned to me and grinned, “An important visitor, Arlen and one I believe you have formerly known,” he announced, triumph filling his words.

The man pulled his hood from around his face and cast Laron an annoyed glance and then turned to me, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of anxiety and awe. It took me little time to recognize those green eyes I remembered so vividly.

“Erhett,” I whispered, my voice barely audible and my hands trembling. I knew I should have expected a prank like this from Laron, but I couldn’t have imagined that Erhett would cooperate. At first, it seemed a cruel joke to stare into those eyes again, but soon I realized it was much more than that.

“Arlen,” he acknowledged me softly, his expression changing and something resembling a smile playing at the sides of his mouth.

“Why-why have you-“ I stopped in midsentence, at loss for words. I found myself staring, unblinking into the eyes of the very man I had betrayed six years ago, the man I had tried to vanquish from my heart.

Erhett drew in a deep breath, his eyes now alive with that familiar glint of nobility and a heart-warming sensation of pained admiration. “I barely recognize you,” he started, obviously at loss for words as well.

I nodded, my mind echoing his thought in affirmation.

“I-I-“ Erhett halted in his words and sighed, lowering his head for a moment and then meeting my eyes once more, this time more firmly, “You have been given a chance, Arlen,” he stated. I did not understand what he meant. A chance? What kind of chance? A chance to do what? But before I spoke, Erhett continued, “A chance to… to redeem yourself, Arlen.” I could tell Erhett was not fond of the word ‘redeem’ which he had used. “I-I have been called to a purpose, to- to journey forth with a man who has pardoned me of my pasts, a man named Relren,” Erhett stopped and looked away, lowering his head, “I promised him that I would seek you out and- and offer you the same.”

I stared at him in confusion for a moment, wondering what he was talking about, “What-what kind of purpose? What kind of journey?” I asked cautiously.

Erhett turned to stare at me once more, his eyes now shining with an intriguing depth, “The journey of the Towers, Arlen.”

“What?!” I exclaimed, “The journey of the TOWERS?!” It was an old, haunting tale, a tale of intrigue and fear. The Towers, the Towers of the West were an ancient legend, never truly confirmed except by a group of people I was all too familiar with… the assassins. “You expect me to go THERE?” I nearly shouted, “to the place where my past, my betrayal originated? Do you TRY to disgrace me, Erhett Ahiksa?”

Erhett winced and sighed sadly, “Listen to me. I know times have been… hard. I know that we have both tried to forget what happened to the duke, but some things cannot be ignored. Sometimes the truth must be faced and conquered. This is important, Arlen. Please do not reject this chance.” He was trying not to acknowledge that what I had done had more than hurt him; he was struggling to forget what he was trying to remember.

I stared at him in fury, my eyes threatening to spill tears. How dare he ask me to do such a thing? It was absurd, unheard of, but deep down I knew it had to be done. I knew that I was the only one who could lead them there and destroy the assassins. Erhett knew I was the only one and I was indebted to him. No matter how hard I resisted, I knew what I had to do. I looked up at Erhett, “Alright,” I whispered, “If it must be done.” I wanted to believe that he was telling me everything, but something in his words did not ring true...