Chapter the First: Wheels
#1 of A Stage of Destinies
The sky burned crimson in bright tapers with the setting of the amber colored sun, and Adrian stared absently out across the oddly hued grass and trees. Below him at the base of the hills, trees swam in gentle breezes and grass rolled across the flatland painted an odd hue of orange and purple by the failing light. A feeling of peace descended over the area as dusk slowly won its dominance over day like some insistent lover who has seen his persistence finally paying the wage of submission. The streets of Benuith lay ahead at the end of the lowland, and its tall buildings were silhouetted monoliths against the blazing welkin. The view might impress on some such a state, that they could find the city beautiful at this distance. Ah, to be an ass, Adrian mused to himself. Some pleasures are best left to the dimwitted, and naïve.
The summer air was fragrant, and a gentle zephyr carried the smell of ripening crops throughout the valley as the tall fox hefted his heavy chain over the rough terrain of the hillside. It was a downward progression, but things are rarely that simple when there is no road. Camping on the plain would be preferable, but sojourning down rocky hills through rough patches of tree and briar is never a thrilling proposition. Adrian trudged into a blackberry patch immediately after exiting the gently waters of a stream that interrupted his path, and cursed in aggravation. One would think the bodies of gods lay strewn haplessly through out the woods at his expletive speech. Regardless of the irritation he endured it would be worth it. Benuith was threatened with war as far as its capital sovereign to the west. A wealth of marauders set their sights on the city, and its farmlands for resources and strategy. The Duke Kalory D'Benuith would pay handsomely for any white-shield willing to take up his banner for duration of the conflict.
Darkness fell quite figuratively on the countryside, and Adrian tramped about a bit in the pale iridescence of the moonlight. Having put the ire inspiring tangle behind him a ways he found his eyes wandering skyward, and the loud objections of his legs began to sound more and more reasonable. "Fine" he said aloud, "You win, here's the camp for the evening." Night this time of year was relatively warm and the sparking of a fire could bring unwanted attention. The last thing the fox wanted was undue attention. The dew would fall before morning, so he fished about in his pack for a sheet-cover rather than spend the time fumbling around in the dark to erect a tent. In short order, his bedroll unraveled, and he set his helmet down beside.
Adrian stretched out his tired frame. Tall and slender, he had managed to keep enough food in his belly to remain healthy, and his length was considerably well toned if a little slim. He bore the posture of a warrior having spent his life in the pursuit of the sword to earn his bread, and so it was unlikely to confuse him with the toneless shape of the regional farmers. He ran a bone-tooth through his hair, which was oddly enough quite blond. The straw colored length of top-fur was an unusual trait for his race, but surprisingly common amongst his people. One can usually guess a Beduin fox by the shock of gold atop his crown, as the saying goes.
Braids fell to either side of his head as he gratefully reposed across the weathered mattress. He usually kept two braids of hair, one on either temple for function rather than aesthetics. It kept the hair back, and out of his eyes when such a distraction could prove fatal in his trade. He pulled the sheet tight around his neck, sighed deeply, and let the heavy lids of emerald-green eyes slowly close to their full slack as an episode of sleep overcame him with all the speed of a Corinthean racing lizard. At last, the end to a long, long, but blessedly uneventful day.
Quick little padding sounds punctuated the footsteps of a small, foraging lizard as it curiously inspected the sleeping fox. Its slender tongue shot out a few times along the blanket as the sun slowly carried itself along the line of the day that it so intimately knew. Once again the landscape was covered in that illusionary blanket of distorted color that indicated the solar position was on the horizon, and heralded the start of the day for those with honest jobs. At this time, small, wild lizards spent the last of their times hunting each other, or scavenging what they could find. A few tiny yips called out across the plain, and the little creature's head jerked to receive them. Whatever they meant, he understood, and scampered off. Adrian settled a bit, his sleep deepening now that he could sense the movement of another living thing disappearing. When one's life hinges on tiny sounds, one learns to keep them in mind at all times. Soon enough he would wake, and the aggravation would begin again. The day would hold little travel, but what little travel there was would take him to the city.
"Please! I don't have any money!" a young canine insisted vehemently. "I'm just a poor farmer's son! I've not even a trade!" His heated assertion only drew sneers from a pair of tall, muscular tigers before him. "Brodry, I think this pup is lying to us" snarled one to the other. His striped arms crossed, and flexed under leather pads.
"Probably not" the other replied, running his fingers through a shock of brown hair. "He doesn't look like he has much. We may as well cut our losses." Couric glared down at the boy, slipping his thumbs under his belt to rest his hands. He took a long, deep breath, and released it just as slowly. "Yep, looks like this one can't pay his way out of a beating."
The young man's eyes widened with terror. Stories had been circulating that in these hard times mercenaries were flocking to his fair homeland. Some of them are barely better than miscreants, while others are thieves, brigands and highwaymen who came seeking an easy handful of gold at the expense of the nation's troubles. Like vultures, the boy thought to his self, descending on a corpse they come, taking advantage of fair Benuith's ill fortune.
"Please" he insisted, "I've done you no wrong...I know I can't fight you, just let me be! By Shopil's eyes, have mercy!" He looked anxiously at the pair as they stiffened a bit. He had hoped that his swearing might incite at least some fear of his God's presence in the tigers, but they barely seemed to budge.
"Now, now" Brodry said quietly, "There's no need to get your yokel God involved in this, 'Tis a matter betwixt mortals." Couric leered down at the boy, leaning forward to add gravity to his expression. "Yeah" he said, "I don't appreciate being cursed. Though I must say...I've never been much impressed with the one you mention. Shopil? Pah!" A sinking feeling descended over the youth as they spoke. Neither was frightened by the prospect of the harvest God's appraisal, and one blasphemed him directly.
"Look kid" Couric interjected dropping his shoulders a bit. "You have a fee to pay, and it is complicated in that we are now insulted. So why don't you take us back to the farm, and inform your parents that they'll be setting us up for the night. A hot meal, a warm bed, possibly a sister, or aunt...I'm sure all this can be forgiven."
"As sure as Clovis' beard is long, you'll forgive and make your way in peace." The tigers turned in shock at the brazen tone of the voice behind them. They eyed the interloper suspiciously, and Brodry hissed in seething anger at his display of defiance.
"Only a fox." he said through clenched teeth, "Get you gone, boy, before you pay with him." The fox didn't move. Couric inspected him a bit more intuitively. He looked over the fine work of his chain mail, and the plating at his greaves. A fair looking saber hung proudly at his belt, which was itself ornamented and well crafted. He peered into the stony gaze of the man, finding an obvious warrior behind them and came to a conclusion. To take on two men, both larger, both armed and armored he'd have to be insane, an idiot, or a warrior of high peerage. Wounds would be exchanged if this came to a fight, and regardless of the outcome his blood or his brother's would flow self-same. "Did you hear me, Beduin? Get you gone before my poniard finds its way into the lock of your soul!" Brodry exclaimed, drawing his weapon noisily from its housing.
"Let it be" Couric said, eliciting a look of confused shock from his brother. "There's no sense in bleeding for the likes of a Beduin. Let it be. We'll soon enough find gold in our pocket from the lord of this land. There'll be enough for wine and women apiece." Adrian scrutinized the pair as well they him. Warriors, no doubt, scarred and hardened by a rough and dangerous trade. The smaller one at least had sense enough to know when a fight couldn't be won without injury at best and was trying to get on with things without bloodshed. There was no cowardice in this, only common sense he judged. Cowards though they might be to pick on one much smaller, and obviously outmatched by them he was at least smart enough to walk.
Brodry looked at his brother with shock, and disbelief, but saw the heat in his expression, and decided he'd better listen. Fighting the runt to his death, then taking his fare of the boy's family was an option, but he would hear no peace about it for a fortnight. He sheathed his weapon slowly, growling at the boy to his side.
"Very well" he said, "Make your prayers that Couric has spared the both of you. Worthless peasants." He punctuated the last words of his statement, almost spitting them as he took a step towards the town. "It isn't that simple" the fox stated plainly, glaring at the big cat with a rocky expression.
"In Beduin, there is a custom. You've drawn steel on me, striped one, make it count. Apologize for the insult, or pay for it in sanguine fee." It was response born of pride pure and simple. If the Beduin had a flaw, it was their pride, and Adrian was no exception. If anything, he was a paragon of the principle. The boy stepped carefully away from the tigers as they spoke, and Brodry slowly turned to face the fox once more.
"Apologize?" he said, in a hushed tone. "I will apologize. One hundred and one times will I apologize, fox! Once for each coin passed between my hand, and that of your white-tailed mother!"
Adrian's eyes grew narrow, and heat blazed in his chest. His ears slowly turned towards the back of his head, and the hard, chiseled countenance he wore began to sharpen. Couric took note of the change as did Brodry, but only the smaller of the too seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. "Once for the coin I gave her for her bed", the tiger continued, "and a hundred more she gave me to inspire my return to it!"
Couric's hand flew almost on its own, striking his brother squarely in the jaw. A sound of shock punctuated the end of his last sentence and he looked to his brother in shock and pain. His hand went to his mouth, and his gaze followed the older tiger's eyes to the Beduin warrior that stood before them. The fox' shoulders lowered, and his arms moved from his side. His pack had fallen to the ground behind him, and his sword-hand drew a path to the hilt of his weapon. Most impressively, his lips receded into a vicious snarl, baring teeth that ground audibly from this distance. Brodry gave pause, and considered what he was seeing. This was a man on the verge of a killing rage. He looked again to his brother, and for the first time considered the consequence of his actions. It was too late now. He'd have no peace of this for weeks.
Adrian's hackles rose and his body prepared to slay. He didn't consciously choose to, but instinct was taking over. His face burned with outrage as his mind began to shrink into a state of subconscious hate, and fury. His vision blurred a bit, occasionally overcast with visions from half-remembered dreams. The silhouette of a woman cast over flames, the screams of a boy, and the vice-like grip of an older and stronger man dragging the boy away. The sound of leather stretching greeted his ears and brought him back to the present. His eyes blazed with a nearly berserk seething and blood pumped furiously through his ears. His hand was already at the hilt, and the stretching leather was the sound of his hands tightening in his gloves, pulling them at the knuckles. The tiger eyes were softer now, and the scent of fear slowly wafted its way to the fox's nose. A few quick steps marked Adrian's advance, and Brodry elected his course of action very quickly.
"I'm sorry!" he said loudly, a twinge of fear in his voice. "I meant no harm of course, I was only joking. A bad joke though it was! Also, the sword, should not have been drawn...it was in haste, and um, I apologize for that as well." He backed a bit away from fox, and emitted a brief nervous laugh and restoring the distance between them. "What say you, Beduin friend? Peace then?" This was the word of a coward, the fox thought to himself, and his apology did little to erase the ill feelings that he now nursed like a hungry pup of great need.
"Let's go brother, before we have to do something we care not to" said Couric, and he turned to leave at a jog. Brodry hazarded one last glance at the fox, recoiling from the look in his hateful orbs. Those are no longer the eyes of a warrior, he appraised, now they are the eyes of a murderer.
Adrian's dander held fast as they fled, but his better judgment held his feet fast as rather to not follow. His breathing slowly decreased, and he was able to release his sword with some effort. Fox eyes darted quickly to movement, and tension rose throughout the warrior's taught muscles as he realized the boy was approaching him. He forced himself to relax as his gaze returned to the tigers, and their retreat to the city. His eyes narrowed. Cowards, he should have slain the one for his insult, and the other for association to him by unfortunate birth. He began to wonder why he had to help every last whelp in some fool danger that he happened across. It always turned out the same.
"In Shopil's mighty name, a thousand thanks!" the boy blathered. "If you'd not helped, why I don't know what I'd have done." Youthful eyes burned with hero worship. It was the way things always went. Adrian felt the familiar disgust rising in him as the boy continued to plea his thanks. Already this soft head is filled with dreams of great warriors, and faith in the silver-plated man at arms who maintains his duty and chivalry to help the weak. Right now, visions of his own face clad in shining mail, and astride the back of a great, war mount dance fondly in his waking dream. Adrian cared not to wait for the inevitable question, and the possibility of attracting a follower for the time his courage lasted.
"Shut up!" he shouted, staring hatefully at the youth. The boy fell into a shocked silence. "Go home to your father, and tend your fields, I've no time for prattling infants of my own loins, what makes you think I've time for one from another's?" The young dog stammered for a moment, almost ready to flee. In spite of himself, he was paralyzed by something dark and fearful behind the fox's bright eyes. Where only a moment before there was a hero, he could now see only death.
"GO!" the fox shouted, and the pup complied. Adrian retrieved his pack, and slid it unceremoniously onto his sunken shoulder. He trudged towards the towering city ahead, dissecting his god's good members with his grumbling as he went.
Vitality briskly swarmed about the narrow streets of Benuith as merchants hawked wares and feet stepped in lively tramps about the city. The town was very much alive, and in good spirits despite the hardships that it inevitably faced. People smiled and greeted each other, men called out about the virtue of their fish, or meat, or grain. Boys and girls skipped gaily through the crowds, laughing and singing some happy local song. It was the perfect picture of a vibrant, healthy community. Adrian sighed as he marched through it. Such a town wasn't fit for such a situation. These people would survive the war, but would this attitude? Even if it did, the fox mused, this was the golden stage. This was that happy step that comes before descent, recession, poverty and desperate crime, and he found it almost pitiable. A city only gets so big, he thought, and then it is only a matter of time.
Besmirched greaves paused at the height of marble steps as Adrian took in the sight of the capital building. He took a deep breath, and prepared himself to speak to a haughty noble in the vein of negotiation. The idea of such talks never sat well with him, so he pushed himself suddenly forward to get it over with.
Beyond the doors was a large foyer, accented by a few potted trees, hanging flags, and a line of desks below an overhanging balcony. The fox approached, and stood quietly before a woman behind the tables.
"What is your business, Beduin" the older horse spoke as she ciphered some document beyond Adrian's kenning.
"You know well enough" he said gruffly. "I am called Adrian, of Beduin Born. I would join your cause of noble liberation to protect your sacred borders in Clovis' name, and by Shopil's sickle." She looked up through her eye glasses, and slowly corrected her posture.
"Well, Adrian of Beduin Born, Shopil's mighty grace on you for your enthusiastic support of the cause." She didn't smile. This was a woman of experience, and she knew full well what he was. Pretty words would make little difference he thought to his self. Clovis' blood, why can't I ever get a young, simple one...
"One gold a week" he said, "And housing as long as I remain in the city. Not a copper less. Meet the price, and you have my sword until you deem me unnecessary, or the enemy is scattered...permanently." The old horse looked at him for a long moment. Her finger idly twirled a stray strand of grey hair around, and Adrian could see that her appraisal was close to a close. That speech had impressed on her. This girl was one to respect brutal honesty, a goodly woman.
"Make your mark" she said flatly, sliding a paper and a quill. Adrian was quick, and unceremonious in signing his name. Words had power by reckoning of the Beduin Born, for words could illicit the elements, end a friendship, or doom a man to death. Even after all this time, Adrian was still unnerved by the thought of words that would stay until someone destroyed them. The woman slid the paper back and raised an eyebrow. "Well" she said in surprise, "A Beduin who is at least lettered sufficiently to sign his own name. You are an exceptional one then."
A pouch of gold was slid across the table, and picked up by the gloved hand of the warrior. "There is three month pay. I trust you'll not leave, Adrian of Beduin, as your career would not be helped by breaking your contract."
"No contract was ever broken by one of Beduin Born" he said flatly, "Lest he prove himself a bastard." The horse was satisfied, and returned to her work. That went well, he thought to himself, and walked briskly out.
The sun worked its way lower and lower, called soothingly down by the soft beckoning of the night in its yielding, come-hither way. Day was following its path to rest in the arms of its cold lover, and grateful for the chance to drop the burden of its trade. Adrian was not so ready to rest. He stood like a good curmudgeon eyeballing the street before him.
The crowds were mostly gone, and all the children of honest parents were safely tucked in their homes. Any others would steal anything you didn't have sufficiently tied down. The only men and women about now were on their way home, or to drink and revelry. Some were just beginning their day, looming in alleys looking for an easy mark, or a lonely man with some coin.
These are the gray hairs of a city, the Beduin thought to himself, the first signs, and the earliest herald of the inevitable death-knell. Whether this city would die in battle, or languish in decay until it collapsed on itself its destiny was certain, and at night one could almost feel that it sensed its own doom. He sighed deeply, and headed towards the tavern.
A lively tune was bouncing happily off of the walls, and punctuated by the bright voices of minstrels and revelers. Whether singing, or chatting, or laughing heartily they filled the inn chamber with an elated din. Adrian sat at the bar, his expression calm, yet lacking in its general dour.
Stout ale filled his mug, and a hot plate of meat dominated his section of the table. This was a winning combination of one of Beduin Born, and he was in surprisingly high spirits. However, he was yet unable to relax. This was a city, and something was always waiting to happen in such a place. There is no doubt that no matter how pleasant the atmosphere serves only to put you off guard so that the trussed environ can spring on you. Whatever it was...it was coming, but one of Beduin Born was not foolish enough to be caught unawares.
"Adrian?"
The fox's eyes closed tightly, and dread came over him. Here it is, he thought, and what a doozy of a joke to play. "Adrian...I never thought I'd see you again."
He turned slowly, and relaxed his clamped eyes. Sure enough, a tall, slender
vixen stood before him. Her raven dark hair hung down to her hips in various patterned braids threaded through with laces that mimicked precious metals. Cloth that at least mimicked silk latticed her svelt frame, and gems accented many of her finer points. "Riadne" he said quietly, then filled his offending mouth with ale as though to wash out some unpleasant taste.
"I still haven't forgotten you" the vixen stated plainly, "I haven't forgotten our love." Adrian sighed.
"Your love, dear girl you remember your love. I've no place for it, and I told you this. The reason you expected to never see me again is because I left intending to never see you again. I'm a sell-sword with no decency left in me, as damned as the black heart of Gur'kora. Go find some hardworking apprentice to give you a life, and stop dreaming of my gold." The vixen pouted for a moment looking at him in hurt, and eased a little closer.
"I know you're only trying to protect me, but I've told you! I don't care about the danger of your profession! I'll follow"-
"I'm more worried about the dangers of your profession" the warrior interjected bluntly, and the vixen's mouth drooped a little in shock.
"Why-how...how dare you?" she demanded, prompting another drink from the fighter.
"I'll die by a sword" he said, "Or arrow, or other implement of death, or by tumbling down a rock face, or some other natural disaster, or by some crafty assassin, whatever you will." He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "But I won't die in some loathsome bed, blind, or stupid, or rotting, or whatever other affliction great Clovis might see fit to inflict on me for pressing the flesh on one whose flesh has been too many times pressed. Now get you gone, I've more important things to think about." He turned back to the bar, and slid his ale to the proprietor to be filled. Her soft, slender arms crossed her ample chest, and hugged tightly to the vixen as she bit back tears.
"I'm not like that" she said, in a whisper, then again loud enough for him to hear. He simply waved her off, and she felt her nails digging into her arms. Why did she suffer this whelp to hold her love? Why did she suffer herself to leap onto a pyre fully alive, that her limbs might be consumed in the fire of torment just to hazard his affection? Were all the god's conspired against her, and for what would reason would they? Certainly she was not so amusing, or important that any among them would care to go to such lengths.
"It isn't your gold I love!" she insisted, but her please elicited no response. "And I'm no whore! Listen to me! Adrian, I have taken to dancing, but I'm no whore...please forgive me the folly of youth and that one betrayal!" Dark mead slowly crept down the fox's throat, but seemed to run bitter with the memory of this woman's chapter in his weary life. This is the folly of youth, no doubt. It was his own folly, though, not hers as she insisted, and he knew it. His father had schooled him against the natures of maids, but he ventured to bed her anyway. Now he could scarce get rid of her.
He could have imagined a life with the vixen once, when he was young and fool-brained. At least he could until she betrayed him, and broke him of another silly, frivolous, youthful habit. On either side of him, eager tavern goers listened intently to their argument. No one in this city was above a free show.
"Quiet girl, and go back about your business. You'll find none with Adrian, for I've better prospects that don't include the feeble minded prattling of broken maids pining for their maidenhead." He glanced back to see if any of it had sank in. Insofar, she seemed immovable in her resolve, and he let out a protracted sigh.
"Listen to me, you son of a bitch!" Riadne shouted, and the din receded a bit. The glass that had been raised to Adrian's lips slammed suddenly to the bar as his mind filled with that familiar rage. "You have a son! Will you just let me-"
"NO!" he shouted, and her brown eyes widened in shock, and sudden fear. "You listen! I'm through with you, you whore!" The fox rose, a vein in his forehead standing out as redness deepened around his cheeks. "Adrian has no son! Perhaps you have a bastard, but not a child of Beduin Born, so stop grasping at my pouch for answers! Find some one with less a mind for reading trollops for you to leech off of, and support your whoreson, should such a thing truly exist! Now go, you worthless cunt, before my temper fails me completely, for by Clovis mighty hands, I've suffered you long enough! Get from my sight or I'll open you from throat to the engine of your trade for speaking so of my honored dam!"
Riadne stepped back, and her heart sank in fear and despair at his railings. She hadn't chosen her words carefully enough, how could she say that, knowing him? But how could he say that about her? Surely his love couldn't be truly dead...had she really wronged him so badly? A young woman making one mistake was worthy of this? Tears welled freely in her eyes, and like many times before another little piece of her hardened. This was the way of the world it seemed.
"What are you waiting for? Do you think you serviced me in some way?" Adrian demanded, and the vixen searched for the words in her rage, and sadness. "Fine, here!" he shouted as he grabbed her roughly by the arm. She yelped in suddenly fear, and pain at his vice-like grip, and jerked helplessly to escape him. He dug in his breeches pocket for a moment, and produced two gold coins. Such a sum? A tiny part of him asked why he would waste so much on the gesture. No part of him could accurately answer.
He shoved the currency unceremoniously into her shirt, and pushed her to the ground.
"There!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "I've paid you, whore! Now get out of my sight!" He panted heavily, the most express his emotions would become in spite of the pain he felt, and glared hatefully at her. Cold metal pressed against Riadne's breast, burning an imprint into her body forever. She sobbed briefly into her hands, and rose to her feet. Rage and hate circulated behind the bright wet eyes of the vixen as well, and she stared back at the Beduin in defiance and hurt.
The bar was mostly quiet, and the revelers now watched the pair square off in intent interest. Even the bards and minstrels had ceased their song to better listen.
"So be it!" she barked out suddenly, and spat into his face. Her slim legs darted down avoiding the blow she knew he would instinctually throw at her, and she darted out the door. A few blocks grew between her and her former love before she stopped. Kneeling in an alley, Riadne sobbed in mourning for her childhood dreams, and the man whom she wanted more than anything else. This was how the world seemed to work. Youth must disappear, and it starts with dreams and ideals. One by one, it devours them until enough are gone, then you start to gray, and droop. Like the happy, youthful city around, the golden age was on its way out heralding the doom of decay.
Riadne's crying slowed, and changed. She ceased to cry out, overcome by rejection and sorrow, but rather in hurt and outrage. So the Beduin wouldn't suffer her to be forgiven? So may it be...neither would she.
Adrian watched the young woman flee, and stopped himself from following. Instead, he simply wiped the insult from his face content that he had what he wanted. Every eye in the bar was fixed on him, but all he could do was wonder at the turmoil inside. He thought he had left this hurt in his younger days, but apparently some wounds simply didn't heal. "Clovis, strike this Benuith to its damned foundations!" he hissed, unconcerned about the opinion of those around him. He slowly turned back and eyed the bar-keep.
"Good proprietor" he said, in a low tone, "I'm in need of a magician. Can you help?" The dog behind the counter simply stared back at him. "I need someone to transform this mead" he continued, sliding the glass to the edge of the bar, "Into bourbon. Can you accomplish this mean feat of wizardry?"
The wretched streets wobbled uneasily before the fox as he stumbled towards the inn that he had earlier taken the liberty of renting. It came to his attention he wasn't sure that it was even in this direction. Damn that woman for upsetting his head as much as she did. All the cursing he could do would not make him satisfied on this town, or its blasted, uneven streets. What else could possibly go wrong?
"Adrian" sounded a sweet voice behind him. "You are drunk, do you even know where you are going?" Clovis' blood, he thought to himself, does this wench ever cease?
"Go away, whore" he slurred, "I'm not so drunk that I'll find myself in a strange bed tonight."
Adrian suddenly stood very still, and his mind struggled to wrap itself around an odd sensation.
At first it was very, very cold, but soon followed by intense fire, a blazing inferno followed by more pressure and erupting pain. The bitch has stuck me, it donned on him all of a sudden. Twice! His mind reeled, and his body clenched at strength that was quickly fading.
"Dalma's loving mercy, did you put it in my kidney?" he exclaimed as he spun to face her. A look dominated the vixen that he had never before witnessed in her. A murderer's eyes glared back at him. Sure enough she gripped a bloody poniard.
"Maybe I should" she hissed. The air filled with the sound of clanking chain and the heavy thud of a muscular fox's body falling to the packed earth beneath him. He grabbed at his sword, but a bare foot attached to a long attractive leg stepped heavily on his hand. He gazed up at her, and though his vision twisted, and swirled with the drink he recognized what he saw.
"So you'll kill me then" he said, a soberness overtaking him as his adrenaline rose. "You've already put the steel in me, you may as well finish it." Riadne's soft lips, the same ones that he had kissed sweetly so many years before pulled back over her teeth. He had done this to her. No one gets that look by accident, he mused.
"I should bleed you slow, you shit!" she seethed as she kneeled and pressed the steel against his face. How had he gotten here? How had she gotten the drop on him? It was almost as if he had simply let her walk up and stick him. Perhaps he simply never imagined that it could happen. Further more...why was he letting this happen? He should be able to overpower this wench in a heartbeat. There was no reason for him to suffer this, and possibly die, so why did he?
"Pay attention to me!" she shrieked and his attention was most definitely garnered as the knife plunged into his shoulder. He clenched his teeth and snarled as she twisted it. Clovis beard, he thought, I love her.
"You...you monster!" she shrieked, "you murderer, you killer of youth! How dare you refuse me? How dare you call me a whore when you are no more than a whore yourself?! Your sword has a price, just as any whores flesh does!" The knife raised high over her head, and he thought to stop it but his thoughts wondered elsewhere. Where have the years gone? His thoughts changed in an instant, lamenting the time he'd lost with her.
Chain ground and parted under the dagger's sharp point as it pressed into his flesh once more. She twisted the dagger, causing him to writhe, and growl. No time left, she thought, time to end it. She lifted the dagger again, and paused. Adrian's eyes opened when the killing blow didn't come. Riadne stared off down an alley, in mute shock and paralysis. The world was growing dim around him. "Clovis, how much blood have I lost?"
"Oh, Derek..." she said, softly.
Shock and terror raced through the vixen's mind as she felt her self buck forward. Confusion fell as a sensation the likes of which she had never known flooded over her.
"No." she said plainly as she looked down. Blood dripped from an arrowhead that pressed through the fabric of her fine dress. The breast that so many men had admired whilst dancing now quivered in pain, and anguish, ruined by a large gash. That was the least of her worry anyway, as she became aware of the horrible burning all throughout her upper body. She coughed suddenly, and the coppery tang of blood appeared in her throat.
Adrian stared in mute horror at the wound. "No" he mouthed silently. Not now, not when I was going to mend it all. Soft hands gripped the shaft as panic seized her. She wheezed, and coughed more and more as seconds passed. In the distance, men were shouting. A pitiful sound erupted from the vixen's throat as a second shaft came rudely through her chest from behind. The knife fell from her hands, as blood streamed from her gaping mouth. She wavered for a moment, and collapsed on top Adrian.
Her blood covered the side of his face, and panic swept through her mind like the raging torrent of some frustrated river expressing itself following the collapse of a dam. She gasped, and coughed desperately, as agony raced through her chest and abdomen. Gods, she couldn't breathe!
"Oh! Dalma!" she whined pitifully, "Dalma have mercy on me! Help me, Adrian, by the gods, help me!" Adrian grit his teeth and looked away. Everything was confusion. The shouting of cityguard, the pain in his back and chest, the blood, every where he looked was like some wicked dream inspired by one of the imp's minnions. Oh when was the last time that blood was confusion?
"Help me..." she pleaded weakly, her eyes wide and wild as she shook with the last desperation of her life. There was a child crying, Adrian could hear it, but where?
"Adrian, please, I...I...please!" The already weak words were fading, and she couldn't see him anymore. Where was the man she came to kill? Where was the other she had seen? Desperation gripped her, and she clawed in all directions at nothing, and everything as she spiraled through darkness. Just one more precious moment! Just one last chance to make it right! Just one more instant of life, or one sweet breath! Her mind fought valiantly to keep a hold on something. Love, hate, pity, regret, anything, or everything as long as it wasn't the nothing that loomed before her.
"A-dr-adri-nnn" she muttered, "Derek..."
Adrian shuddered for a moment, and shoved the girl's body off of him. He tried to stand, but found it only possible to rise to his knees. He lurched for a moment looking down at the ruined shell of the beautiful girl beside him. She was gone now, nothing more than another corpse. One of many that he had seen in his life, but how often did one have an impact? He fell on his hands and wretched miserably, vomiting the liquor, pain, and sorrow out over the ground, his hair, and his arms. He almost swooned and fell over for a moment, but something captured his attention.
The crying child, reached his ears, and he finally found him. A young boy, maybe five clutched Riadne, and shook her desperately. He was trying to wake her in his own little way. This is where it starts, the Beduin thought, this is the first loss. The death knell of youth never sounded with such alarum for the warrior. This must her son, a little fox boy in good health he appraised. Interesting enough, he noticed something that seemed to pull his world into one desperate need: a crown with a shock of bright, golden hair...
The boy felt large, powerful hands gripping him, and pulling him away from his mother.
"No!" he screamed, "No! Mommy! Please get up! PLEASE!" Adrian pulled the boy away, on his last iota of strength.
"Don't look, boy, or you'll never forget" he said with another man's words. "Hush now." He soothed, gripping the child to his chest, and shielding the grisly scene from him with his warrior's body. "Don't let her hear you cry, or she'll never find the shores of Urcain. She'll wonder this world looking for you forever. Calm down now, it's ok. It'll be ok as long as you don't look."
It amazed him how history was like unto itself. How it likened to sort of wheel, spinning and spinning. He gripped the child as tightly as he could, satisfied that the boy seemed to be calming as he felt his own life draining away.
"Maybe the stupid girl did put it in my kidney" he said to one of the town guard who now stood nearby, shouting at him to respond so that he could tell what was wrong with him. "I am no smarter now than I was ten years ago." He said, and collapsed backward.
The guard took up the boy and tried his best to comfort him as he stared in mute horror at Adrian lying across the vixen's body. He reached back with one hand, and gently stroked her shoulder. "How could we be so amazingly stupid, the two of us?" he said faintly, and closed his eyes.