Black Star (1) The fire crackled as the rain beat on the shingled roof of the large house. A woman sat in a large, plush armchair, gently rocking the baby in her arms to sleep. A golem stood in the corner, awaiting any order its masters would give it. The door opened, and a man, drenched and dressed in dark crimson robes dashed into the well-lit room. The woman stood up, still holding the baby in her arms. The strange man pulled back the hood to reveal a pale, thin face and black hair greased neatly back. The woman sighed and sat down, but the man beckoned for her come and talk to him. “Phrineas, what has gotten into you?” The woman asked quietly as to not wake the baby. “Having to go out on a night like this, and then just barging in the door, soaking wet? Have you forgotten your umbrella again?” “My dearest Rozelien, listen,” Phrineas said, in a whisper so quiet, it was almost inaudible. “There is a carriage at Prince Street waiting, take the baby and Gol-Rok with you. He will take you somewhere safe, somewhere far away from here.” “What is going on Phrinaes?” Rozelien said. “Why must we leave here? Our son does not even have his name.” “I do not understand,” Phrinaes said, exasperated. “We already named him. He is Jakkobe, after my father.” “Not that name,” Rozelien sighed. “His Thief’s Name.” Phrinaes froze. “The Thieves Codex is dead!” he roared. “I am the last reminder of that forgotten set of rules and regulations! Our son should live a normal life, not plagued by having to hide and live on the streets!” “You are a Thief, and you live in luxury.” Rozelien told Phrineas. “The Thieves Codex is only dead should you believe it to be dead. Now, give our son his name, Red Tiger.” Phrinaes cringed at the mention of his Thief’s Name, but he reached inside his robes and produced an old, decaying tome. On its cover in fading gold letters was written The Thieves Codex. He held out the book towards his wife. He opened to the middle of the book, where a handprint was displayed with some text under it. “Well, Street Raven, put our son’s hand on the book so he can take the oath.” Phrinaes said, becoming more anxious by the second. Rozelien gently took the baby’s hand and laid it on the book. The baby gurgled and opened its eyes. They shone out a bright, icy blue, just like his father’s. Phrinaes went through the Naming Rites, though he did it so fast that the words were garbled and indecipherable. He looked his son in the eyes for the last time, and he closed the book after he removed his son’s hand from the page. “So, what is his name?” Rozelien asked, looking at her husband skeptically. “Traditionally, the mother decides the name.” Phrinaes said rather casually, despite his constant looking around. “Fine then,” Rozelien said. “His name will be Black Star. It is a beautiful name, don’t you think?” “Yes dear, it is a beautiful name, come now, let us go to the carriage-“ Phrinaes was cut off by a crash and the splintering of wood. He and his wife, still holding the infant boy in her arms, turned to face the door. The golem, Gol-Rok, awoke and stood beside his master. The golem started to ask if Phrinaes needed extra seating for the arriving guests and if he needed a new door, but Phrinaes hushed the golem. Standing in the doorway were three guards, each holding a scimitar and wearing ornate silver helms. Their uniforms were black as the stormy clouds above, and on their arms they each wore a silver armband with a picture of a bloodied wolf fang emblazoned on it. One guard wore another armband, colored silver as well, but with a golden shield on it. The captain, signified by his extra armband, walked into the room and looked at the odd group of man, woman, baby, and golem. “We have a warrant for the arrest of one Red Tiger, known as Phrinaes the bookkeeper, wanted for several counts of theft, one count of mugging, and three counts of attempted murder. The victim of all these crimes is the mighty Lord Paeden, ruler of the recently liberated Duchy of Swarbon, ruler of the Sway Wood, keeper of the Tomb of Larmandi the Hero!” The head guard cried out loudly, as if he wanted everyone in the city to hear him. The family of Phrineas, also known as Red Tiger, stood as still as stone. The guard looked them over before beckoning to his lackeys. “If you do not surrender him, we will kill you all and burn this house to the floor, to ensure that the thief will die!” the guard cried, unaware that the house was so small that it would be impossible to hide anything, let alone a grown man. Phrinaes stepped forward. “I am Red Tiger,” he said in a sure voice. “You can take me and do whatever you wish to me, but leave my family alone. They have done no wrong.” The peon guards handcuffed Phrinaes and led him out the door. The head guard held his scimitar high above his head. “Now, to kill these worms. Lord Paeden requested that there are no witnesses.” The head guard said. Phrinaes watched in horror as the head guard let his sword drop to cleave Rozelien’s head into two, but instead, he heard the ring of metal hitting stone. Gol-Rok had stepped in front of Rozelien to block the sword. Gol-Rok now sported a nasty gash on his front side, but he still stood strong. Phrinaes, though handcuffed, was able to reach his knife pommel, set with ruby and lapis lazuli. As Phrinaes held the knife pommel like he was cutting the handcuffs, the guards laughed and said something about Phrinaes being crazy. They did not expect the flames to leap from the pommel, or the ice that quickly followed. The two elements fused to make a wickedly sharp knife of stone, with which Phrinaes wasted no time in using to cut his handcuffs. He ran through the guard on his left with the blade and kicked the guard on his right in the chest. Phrinaes ran up to the head guard screaming like a banshee with the knife held above his head. Phrinaes jumped up and was about to stab the head guard in the back when the guard whipped around, holding his scimitar out like a spear. Rozelien cried out as her husband’s dead body slumped to the ground, the blood darkening his robes even more. The guard turned around, with a cut left on his face in the shape of a crescent moon from the knife of fire and ice, a parting gift from Red Tiger. The head guard raised his bloodstained scimitar above his head and prepared to take another blow at Rozelien when and arrow embedded itself in the guard’s head. The guard slumped to the ground, falling on top of the dead body of Phrinaes. The person who shot the arrow appeared like a ghost. His green doublet was greatly contrasted by his yellow undershirt and leggings. He took the knife pommel from Phrinaes’ hand, now empty of metal or stone once more, and handed it to Rozelien. He saluted her before disappearing into the night again. “Sky Arrow,” Rozelien murmured as Gol-Rok helped her to her feet and took the knife pommel to store in his hollow chest. Gol-Rok led Rozelien through the dark streets to where the carriage was waiting. She got in and the driver flicked the reins, starting them on their way. The carriage left the city without notice, as everyone was too busy listening to the carriers screaming “The Head Guard Reilien is dead! The Head Guard Reilien is dead!” The carriage was about three miles from the city when it came to a sudden stop. Rozelien reached out and tapped the driver on the shoulder to ask him why they had stopped, but the driver had turned around already. The driver wore the armband with the bloodied wolf fang on it, meaning he was one of the guards, one of the Crimson Wolves. He pulled out a weapon the like of which Rozelien had never seen. It was a large tube attached to some sort of other mechanism. There was a lever that the guard pulled on with his thumb, and another he pulled on with his index finger. There was a bang, and there was a small, circular hole through Rozelien’s forehead. The driver put the weapon up to his head and pulled the trigger again. There was another bang, and all was silent. If there were any travelers on this particular road at this particular time, they would have seen the two dead people in the carriage, bleeding from the head. They would have seen the strange weapon, but would not dare to touch it. They would have seen the golem carrying the baby, Black Star, off into the forest. They would have seen everything. But there were no travelers along the road that night. Nor were there any travelers along that road for another fortnight, giving the Crimson Wolves plenty of time to clean up the mess of two dead bodies, plus two starved horses. They had plenty of time to hide their strange weapon as well. No one ever knew what had happened. The boy ran through the forest undergrowth, a bag full of gold in one hand and a knife in the other. Behind him, two guards were chasing after him, but not getting any closer due to their heavy armor. The boy jumped up onto a tree trunk and climbed up the ancient oak faster than a squirrel. The two guards stood at the bottom of the tree, panting and screaming up at the boy. The two guards stood there screaming for the better part of an hour before finally giving up and leaving. The boy jumped out of the tree, landing as light as a bird on a branch. The boy wore a black doublet, and neglected to wear anything underneath that. He wore gray trousers, and his boots, which my have once been khaki, had turned dark brown from years of mud making its home on those boots. He had a not-to-thin face, with high cheekbones and pale skin. His black hair was greased back, except for an extremely tall and thin cowlick. He had a broad, joyous smile and his hands were rough from living in the outdoors for so long. He ran back to the gigantic, hollow tree which was his home and poured out the gold bag on a crudely fashioned table. The coins gleamed in the light that entered from the top of the huge tree. As the boy was counting the coins by placing them into stacks of ten, a golem with a huge gash down its front walked into the room with a basket full of wild apples and blackberries. The golem opened up its chest to reveal some dead rabbits, their necks broken so that the flavor of the meat would not be spoiled by exposure to air. The golem set all these down on another table in the room before walking up behind the boy. “Six hundred and fifty four pieces,” the boy said proudly, beckoning towards the coins. “That will make almost thirty thousand pieces this year.” “Well, Black Star,” the golem said as it scooped half of the coins into its chest, now rabbit-free. “You are quite the thief. Who was it today?” “Well, Gol-Rok,” Black Star said, doing his best to mimic the robotic voice of the golem. “I stole from the one and only Lord Paeden. He was trying to get up after he tripped on a rut in the road. Who knew there could ever be a man so large with girth? It was easy to cut his purse from his belt then. I was actually caught while trying to steal from the vegetable stall. Funny stuff, it is to see those iron-clad guards chase after me into these woods.” Gol-Rok grabbed Black Star by the arm and dragged the protesting boy to the upper room. He sat the boy down in a crudely fashioned chair and began to speak. “Black Star, Lord Paeden is a dangerous man,” Gol-Rok said. “I do not wish to see you dangling above a cheering crowd or your head on a pike at the top of his palace. Stay away from him.” Black Star stood up, making him almost a foot taller than the dome-headed golem. “Gol-Rok, I will be sixteen years of age soon. I am not I child, a can handle myself!” Black Star said rather forcefully. “I will show you what I am capable of, Gol-Rok. You will see what I can do.” Black Star stalked off to go and take his share of the gold that he had left on the table. Gol-Rok looked down at the chair Black Star had sat on. The golem sighed and started to polish the chair that he had made so carefully, so precise, and yet still looked as if someone had gone after the chair with a battleaxe. Gol-Rok sighed and retrieved his dead rabbits to go and cook them. It had been nearly sixteen years since that fateful night when his first master had died, and Gol-Rok was afraid another night like that would come once more. The nation of Swarbon was at first a territory of Caolen. It had been a duchy that had its fair share of history, from the first stone to be set in a sword to being home to Larmandi the hero, who saved the Paladin Souls and the world from utter darkness. It was a forested land, with few open fields and glades for cities to grow. So the people began to expand upwards instead of outwards. Swarbonese architecture was highly respected for being able to withstand strong winds and the occasional wyvern or dragon hitting the structures. But the most magnificent of all these structures was the Tower. The Tower was the work of fifty generations, and its construction showed just that. It changed colors as it climbed up higher into the sky as material fell out of supply or popularity and as building methods changed. Many thought that the Tower would just jut out into the sky for all eternity until its construction was finally called to a halt. Its top was left open, but instead of being something bad, the thirtieth ruler of Swarbon, Lordess Ingriesew, had it transformed into an observatory for the astrologists and philosophers to conduct their studies. Now, the one who resided in the Tower was Lord Paeden, the current ruler of Swarbon. Lord Paeden sat on his lavishly decorated throne, munching on a turkey drumstick. Behind him stood an old man wearing the traditional blue-green robes of a royal advisor, with the traditional rod set with ruby, lapis lazuli, and a special green-red gem that had passed from the annals of history into the lands of myth. Gol-Rok was right about Paeden. Paeden was a dangerous man when he chose to be, but he was too much of a coward to do so on his own. Paeden was a kind, plump man, softened by the royal life in which he lived. His small hands were clean and unmarked, a sign of never working an honest day in his life. But Paeden was insecure, fearful of everything. Nor did he have the slightest idea on how to run a kingdom, which is why he had his advisor. Advisor Soulissen was a passionate, if sadistic man. He loved music and poetry and the theater, and the torture of helpless prisoners. His head was bald and his beard shaven. Even if Soulissen was cruel and vain, he was knowledgeable in many subjects, from history to mathematics to science. Advisor Soulissen, if only in knowledge instead of personality, would be an ideal ruler for Swarbon. The cold, calculating eyes of Soulissen looked around, analyzing everything, waiting. Waiting for his chance. “Well, my lord, what be the news today?” Soulissen asked in his whispery, hollow voice. “I went to market,” Paeden wheezed, another byproduct of his rotund figure. “And tripped.” “We will order the road makers to address this problem! It will be repaired immediately! And then we will execute them to punish them for their mistakes!” Soulissen said, a hint of joy in his voice. “No, no executions,” Paeden cried quickly before Soulissen could summon the guards. “It was only a small rut, and I did not see it. I am unhurt. That is all that matters.” “Well, how about your missing purse?” Soulissen asked in a sarcastic voice, attempting to get a rise out of his more or less passive king. “That is missing from your belt. Do you suggest we let the thief go as well?” “What thief?” Paeden asked. “The purse probably fell from my belt as I rolled around trying to get up.” “My lord! You had nearly seven hundred pieces in your purse!” Soulissen said angrily. “It was just pocket change…” Paeden said, quickly becoming fatigued by the length of the conversation. “It will be fine, Advisor Soulissen. Just leave everything as it is. No decrees, no commands, nothing. And no executions.” Paeden took another bite out of the turkey leg and swallowed before his head drooped down and his snore filled the room. Soulissen walked out of the throne room. He gave his sleeping king a look from the corner of his eye as he walked out. He paused in the doorway. “Aye, my lord, it will be fine.” “Blast it, I’ll show Gol-Rok,” Black Star murmured to himself. “I’ll show everyone!” Black Star walked through the forest to a place he loved to visit, the Tomb of Larmandi the Hero. There was just something about the place that made Black Star feel at home. He loved running his hands against the rough surface of the skywrite meteor and reading the plaque. He always tried to see what Larmandi would look like. Black Star saw a strong, brave man with a stallion, with everyone cheering him on. Black Star ran his hands against the blue-green surface of the meteor, closing his eyes and letting the visions wash over him. The image this time was different though. There was a large, misshapen man, looking very much like a Shadow, a foul spirit of darkness. Before him stood a boy bearing a knife pommel, ruby and lapis-lazuli set in its hilt. The boy held up the pommel, and fire and ice flew from the empty place where the knife ought to be, and then a blast of lightning cam down. And then Black Star was broken from his reverie by a loud, clanking noise all too familiar to his ears. Armor. And by the loudness and frequency of the sound, a lot of it. Black Star dashed off and climbed a nearby tree with all of the speed he could achieve. He hid among the branches and leaves watching and waiting. A whole regiment of Crimson Wolf soldiers entered the clearing. At their head was a man in blue-green robes, bearing a staff set with ruby, lapis-lazuli, and an odd red-green gem. The man raised his staff, and the clouds darkened. He swung his staff in the direction of the meteor, and a bolt of electricity came down for the heavens. The bolt struck the meteor, right where the plaque was, and left a hole in the skyrite tomb. Two soldiers went into the newly formed entrance. It was the longest moment of the whole affair. Black Star watched attentively, wondering about what was going to happen. Soulissen impatiently tapped his foot on the ground in front of the meteor, awaiting the return of the two soldiers. He beckoned to another pair of soldiers, and sent them into the tomb. Another hour passed, and this time, several soldiers went in all at once. Each group failed to return. Soulissen, growing impatient, went in himself. A pair of guards attempted to follow him, but he ordered them to stay out here and make sure no one came. If any traveler or pilgrim came by, they were to be killed on sight. The guards saluted and each pulled out a copy of the same weapon that was first tested nearly sixteen years ago. Soulissen walked into the dark tomb. He murmured some words, and a small flame came from the ruby, lighting the tomb. The light went only a few feet though, and the darkness seemed to be more like a liquid thing than an absence of light, almost as if it was physical manifestation of something. Soulissen murmured a few more words, and the flame grew larger and brighter. Soulissen marched forward into the dark depths of the meteor. Soulissen marched on to pass the first soldiers he sent in. The sight was gruesome. It had only been a few hours, but already, their bodies were old and wrinkled, and their stench was that of a man dead for forty years. Their eyes were gone, and when Soulissen kicked the corpse, it fell apart like a poorly constructed cart. The skull, still wrapped up in dead skin, fell so that its eye sockets looked directly at Soulissen. Soulissen stared into the darkness of the empty sockets and he moved onwards. He passed each soldier as he advanced farther along through the tomb, each soldier more decayed than the one before him. Soulissen finally reached the inner sanctum, and was greeted with light after nearly three hours of walking. The walls had disappeared, and the ceiling was gone too. There was a blue sky, and trees all around. A sun blazed up in this sky, and birds chirped out their songs. Soulissen advanced deeper into this forest, before he saw something that caught his eye. A simple grave, two pieces of wood tied together with rope stood in a small clearing. Soulissen dropped onto his knees and began digging the ground away with his bare hands. Dirt and rocks went flying everywhere. Soulissen finally saw a bone hand, and he renewed his frenzied excavation. He dug deeper and deeper, unearthing the corpse more and more. Soulissen spent an hour digging, but what he found did not please him. He was expecting the golden armor of skyrite, but instead, he found the obsidian armor of Paladin Souls. Soulissen merely shrugged and pulled out a knife and set himself to the task of removing the stones from the dark armor and sword. It was not what he was looking for, but it would do. Black Star, while Advisor Soulissen was just entering the inner sanctum, ran back to the giant tree. He opened the door with such force that it awoke Gol-Rok. Gol-Rok went up to Black Star and asked what was happening. Black Star related the suspicious behavior at the Tomb of Larmandi the Hero. Gol-Rok grabbed Black Star by the arm, and dragged Black Star up the stairs again, much to Black Star’s irritation. Black Star sat down, and Gol-Rok opened a drawer and pulled out an old, musty tome and a knife pommel set with ruby and lapis-lazuli. Gol-Rok handed the book to Black Star. Black Star blew the dust off the cover to reveal the words Thieves Codex. “It is time you learned your family history.” Gol-Rok said. Black Star opened the book to the first page and began reading. Gol-Rok drummed his thin spider-like fingers on the drawer as Black Star flipped through the pages. Black Star looked up from the book with a look of bewilderment on his face. “Is this all… true?” Black Star stammered. “Everything in here? The stories, the techniques, the rules?”
Go to part: 1 2
Copyright © 2009 Matthew James Parsons |